Leaves of Parchment
by Silverlake Elf
Summary: Boromir comes home after a year's absence to find that Faramir is much changed. What could have changed the sweet, gentle second-son so much?
1. A lot can change in a year

Author's Note: If sibcest squicks you, I suggest that you turn back now (or not read past the first chapter of the story). This is a collaboration between me and a friend, Jenn. I wrote for Faramir while she wrote for Boromir. Reviews are absolutely loved and welcomed (while flames will be happily used to make smores). Feel free to send Jenn a comment at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
This story takes place when Faramir is 15, thus, with the five year age difference, Boromir is 20.  
  
I absolutely promise that there will be more chapters to come as we are both completely in love with this story. So please keep reading!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The first rosy fingertips of the dawn were poking up above the horizon when Boromir saw the white battlements of Minas Tirith looming before him. Urging his steed onwards, he traversed the dew-covered Pelennor and rode up to the gigantic ironbound gate which opened up wide to allow him entrance. He looked around, smiling broadly to be back home, and immediately his thoughts turned to Faramir, who was undoubtedly fast asleep in the upper levels of the city. After retiring his horse to the small stables, Boromir ascended through the tiers of the white stone city until he finally reached his brother's bedchambers. He had not slept nor eaten for many hours, and was weary, but he still had to see his brother before any comfort could be given to him. Quietly, so as to not rouse Faramir, Boromir poked his head inside and let a small slit of the growing sunlight to pour through the door. Inside he could see Faramir curled up tightly under the pelts covering his mattress, and he smiled to see the contented, innocent image of his brother as he slept. Quickly and silently, he shut the door and promptly retired to his own chamber before he encountered the steward who would surely waylay him further from getting his much needed rest.  
  
Faramir opened his eyes slowly, his sensitive ears catching the creak of the heavy wooden doors as Boromir left. Still halfway asleep, he barely registered his brother's presence before he slipped out of the room again. A contented smile slowly dawned on his face as he slowly woke. It took him only a few minutes to shake the remnants of sleep from his head, and he leapt out of his bed immediately after, throwing off his dressing gown and pulling on one of Boromir's old tunics over his spindly frame.  
  
Without bothering to slip into his boots, he sprinted out of his room and down the stone corridor, excitement blinding him as he raced towards his brother's chamber. "Boromir!" he shouted, flinging the door to his room open without even an attempt at a knock. His eyes scanned the room eagerly, looking for the older man.  
  
Boromir jumped, startled to hear Faramir's voice piercing the still air that filled his chamber. "Faramir?" he said tentatively as he strode over to the opened door, stripped down to his brown leggings and weatherstained ivory tunic. He smiled and laughed, "Faramir, you should be asleep!"  
  
"I saw you leaving my room, and it woke me up instantly!" He looked Boromir up and down eagerly, taking in every detail of his deeply missed brother. "You look terrible!" he said amiably.  
  
Boromir narrowed his eyes at Faramir, causing his little brother to avert his eyes apologetically. Suddenly he grabbed Faramir and lifted him up in the air, spinning him around as he backed into his room. "Terrible did you say?" he growled jocularly. He tossed Faramir onto the neatly made bed that lay in the corner against the grey stone wall and tackled him, tickling Faramir in the ribs which jutted out sharply. "Hmm?! What'd you say I was?" he laughed.  
  
Faramir curled himself into a small ball and batted at Boromir's large hands. "Stop!" he gasped, laughing so hard that he could barely breathe. "Stop!" he pleaded again as tears began to stream down his cheeks.  
  
Boromir eased off of his attack on Faramir and ran a hand through his tousled reddish hair. "All right, all right," he chuckled. He swept his eyes over the bony frame that Faramir had, and he was startled by the thinness of his brother's limbs. Boromir jabbed at Faramir's ribs one last time in a concealed effort to find out whether he could feel the bones of Faramir's ribcage abnormally sticking out, which they were. Worry clouded Boromir's face, but he forced a smile and said "Miss me, my little rosebud?" He'd always called Faramir his little rosebud, because his little brother's cheeks were always rosy, just like their mother's had been.  
  
"Miss you? How could anyone miss a lout like you?" he bluffed, grinning up at his big brother who he adored more than anything else in Arda. "I rather enjoyed you being gone. There was no one to steal food from my plate or hide my bow and arrow just before my archery lesson!"  
  
Boromir looked back at Faramir somberly and got up, turning his back to the small figure that lay on his bed. "Fine then. Go away if you despise me so," he said evenly, his voice playfully tremulous with false emotion. Inwardly he wondered who it actually was who could have been stealing food from Faramir, since he was so skinny and gangly compared to the way he was a year ago. Boromir decided to concern himself with the matter later on, when he wasn't so tired and in need of rest. "Just go if you cannot tolerate my presence!" he joked, still not facing Faramir as he crossed his arms over his muscled chest.  
  
"Fine!" Faramir replied haughtily, "If you want me to go, I will." He climbed up from the bed, pretending to leave, but at the last moment flung himself at Boromir. He wrapped his arms tightly around him, embracing him from behind, and nuzzled his muscled back with his cheek. "I missed you more than you can ever imagine," he said quietly, his voice replete with affection.  
  
Boromir grinned widely and turned around without making Faramir remove his arms from where they encircled his waist. "I missed you just as much, Faramir," he said as he affectionately ruffled Faramir's riotously wavy hair with his broad hand. He stifled a yawn with his other hand and said "Oh, but I am weary. Can I go to sleep, my liege?" he queried, smiling as he looked down at Faramir's head where it rested against his muscular abdomen.  
  
"I suppose I can allow it; you look as though you are about to fall asleep standing right where you are," he said disdainfully, adopting the most arrogant voice that he could. He removed his arms from around Boromir so that his brother could finally lay down and take some rest. "Is there anything you require before I leave you to your peace?"  
  
"Not really, no, just some silence would be most welcome," Boromir said airily and absently as he approached his bed, falling forward into the soft mattress covered in wool blankets. He snored loudly in jest and opened one eye to look at Faramir who stood by the bedside, pouting. "Dismissed! That is, unless you are tired, too, and can not bring yourself to leave my glorious presence and will just have to steal my bed." His voice was jaunty and light, and he grinned again when he saw Faramir's face light up with glee.  
  
"I am feeling rather fatigued seeing as how I was awakened before dawn by an inconsiderate captain." Faramir couldn't help but smile, though, as he joined Boromir in his bed, pressing himself against his brother until their bodies were flush with each other.  
  
Boromir sighed dramatically as he nestled against Faramir. "Sorry about that, I had to see you before I went to bed," he whispered huskily. He poked the small of Faramir's back one last time before shutting his eyes and drifting off to sleep to the rhythmic sound of Faramir's steady breathing.  
  
Faramir stayed awake for a while longer, watching his brother's broad chest rise and fall in its steadfast cadence. He brushed a stray lock of sandy hair from his brother's face and gazed down at his masculine features fondly. Dropping a light kiss onto Boromir's regal nose, he rested his head on his brother's chest, soon lulled into a soft slumber by the steady beating of his brother's heart.  
  
***  
  
The sun was beginning its descent back to the horizon before Boromir awoke, the yellow light pouring in through the tall slits in the granite walls falling on his pillow-marked face. Gingerly, he pulled his left arm from underneath Faramir's sleeping figure and stretched like a cat, cracking the bones in his spine as he did so. A cavernous yawn marred his features for a moment before got up and rummaged through a cedar wood chest, withdrawing a fresh tunic and pair of leggings. Casting a final glance over to where Faramir slept, he slipped into the inner recesses of his chambers where a bath lay drawn for him. On a wooden stool next to the basin were several bottles of scented soaps and oils sat. Boromir quickly disrobed and settled into the lukewarm bath, leaning back against the wall of the tub as he let the grime and dirt that had accrued during his journey home fall away.  
  
Boromir soaped up and dipped his head into the water, washing away the dirt from his strewn hair. Feeling sufficiently clean, he stood up and carefully dried off before slipping into his clean garments. Returning to his bedchamber where Faramir still slept soundly, Boromir pulled on his worn- out leather boots and made for the door. Before leaving he glanced back to where his brother lay and smiled. "I'm glad I'm back," he said to himself quietly. Turning, he departed and tromped up to the hall of stewards where Denethor awaited him.  
  
***  
  
Faramir woke not a quarter of an hour later. He looked around the chamber in confusion, missing Boromir's warmth against him. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched in much the same way his brother had done. He climbed out of the bed and stumbled around the room sleepily before realizing that Boromir's favorite pair of boots was gone, as were the clothes that had been laid out for him.  
  
Still rubbing at his eyes, he shuffled out of the room drowsily. Figuring that Boromir had gone to report to his father after his much-needed rest, Faramir made his way to the throne room, completely unmindful of his sloppy state of dress, tousled hair, and bare feet.  
  
***  
  
Boromir emerged from the throne room in an exasperated state of mind; it was not his idea of a good time to report every bit of minutiae to his father after a venture to the outlying realms of Gondor that spanned twelve months. He flung open the heavy doors and stepped out into the broad daylight only to see Faramir's bedraggled figure climbing the steps to the entrance. Boromir nearly collided with him but grabbed Faramir's thin upper arms to steady himself. "Faramir, you're awake!" he said as a smile brightened his rugged features.  
  
"I woke up and you weren't there. Naturally I hoped that you had finally decided to leave the city forever, but I decided to check here just in case." Faramir peeked around Boromir and through the partially opened doors. "Was father happy to see that you've returned?"  
  
Boromir ignored the query about their father and looked Faramir up and down quizzically with an amused glint in his eyes. "Faramir, are you aware that your tunic is on backwards, or have I been gone too long that I have missed this new mode of dress?"  
  
Blinking in confusion, Faramir looked down at his clothes, realizing that he had, in fact, put the tunic on backwards in his haste to see his brother. His cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment and he quickly righted the tunic, giving Boromir a brief glance at his protruding ribs. "I was in such a hurry to see if you were really back that I paied no attention to my clothes." He looked down at his feet and then wiggled his toes. "And apparently I paid no attention to my footwear as well."  
  
Boromir smiled warmly and slung his arm protectively around Faramir's bony shoulders as they walked back in the direction of their quarters. "Oh, I always knew you were that delighted to see me, Faramir," he said. Once they were out of earshot of the guards, Boromir hesitantly asked, "Faramir, how have you been during my absence?"  
  
"I've been fine, brother." Faramir gave Boromir a sunny smile, "I've missed you, but that was to be expected, was it not?"  
  
Boromir tried to force a smile but could not; he was too filled with concern over the emaciated figure that Faramir had. "Yes, I suppose that would be expected because I am the greatest brother one could ask for, but, you seem er... different," he finished lamely. He knitted his brow worriedly and ran a hand over Faramir's side, feeling each rib through the scratchy material of the tunic hanging off of Faramir's body.  
  
Faramir pulled away from Boromir's touch and wrapped his arms around his small body to prevent any further exploration. "Different?" He forced a chuckle, "I promise that I am the same Faramir you left here a year ago."  
  
Boromir was taken aback by the bristling reaction Faramir showed. "I meant no offense, Faramir," he replied sharply, "I am merely alarmed because you look about half the size you did compared to the way you were when I left those months ago. If something was awry I would have you tell me."  
  
"There is nothing awry!" he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he had intended. "I am the same size as when you left a year ago. Maybe a bit taller, but that is all!" His eyes flashed with defensive anger before softening again to their normal pale blue. "Let's not fight. At least not until you've been home for a week or more. I've missed you too much to argue."  
  
Boromir pushed back the urge to voice his full opinion on the obvious fact that Faramir was not being entirely forthright with him. "Very well," he said evenly. "Go and properly dress yourself, silly, and we can spend the afternoon making up for lost time," he added warmly, forgetting about the niggling concerns in the back of his head for the moment. He smacked Faramir's behind, sending his brother trotting ahead in earnest.  
  
***  
  
Once Faramir had dressed himself properly, he hurried to meet his brother. He found Boromir in a small garden tucked away in a clandestine corner of the sixth level of the city, running his fingers over the petals of white orchids thoughtfully. The small garden had been theirs ever since they were old enough to take care of it; Faramir mostly saw to its upkeep, going there several times a day when Boromir was away on his long journeys. There was always an abundance of orchids, their mother's favorite flower.  
  
Smiling to himself, Faramir crept up behind Boromir silently and covered the blue eyes identical to his own with his thin hands. "Guess who?" he whispered into his brother's ear.  
  
"Oh no, I've been blinded!" Boromir cried playfully as he whirled around and pinned Faramir on the green sward carpeting the garden. "Glad you finally got here. You're slower than an ox sometimes," he joked as he tickled Faramir's stomach, sending the smaller man into a fit of squirms and giggles.  
  
"Not again!" he cried, laughing and writhing on the ground beneath Boromir. He slithered out from under his brother and scooted across the ground until he was a considerable distance away. "That's not fair!" he protested, eyes dancing with mirth, "You're bigger than me! You have an unfair advantage!"  
  
Boromir sat up and dusted himself off. "Sorry, I couldn't help it. I have a whole year of tickles to make up for." He plucked an orchid that hung from the trellis on his right side and tossed the flower at Faramir. "The garden is beautiful, I'm so glad that you've been mindful of it."  
  
"What else do I have to do while you're away?" Faramir sniffed the pearly flower, closing his eyes and allowing the sweet fragrance to permeate his senses. He sat in reverie for a moment before opening his eyes again to find Boromir smiling at him fondly. "I couldn't have you come home and see our garden in disrepair."  
  
Boromir let himself fall backwards to sprawl on the lawn of grass, the blades of which pricked onto the skin on the back of his neck. He let the sun warm him and he suddenly felt the urge to sleep come over him again under the yellow light of afternoon. Within moments he was dozing lightly, but was still aware enough of his surroundings that he could hear the rustle and shuffling of papers next to him where Faramir sat among the herbs and flowers. He opened one eye just a crack and saw Faramir bent over a piece of parchment, writing furiously as his tongue was stuck thoughtfully out of the corner of his mouth. Boromir's curiosity was piqued, but he pretended to be asleep while Faramir continued to scrawl something onto the leaves of parchment.  
  
As he scribbled quickly on the parchment, Faramir snuck furtive looks at his brother. Prose quickly flowed from his quill, comparing his brother to the beautiful garden they found themselves in. He balled up leaf after leaf of parchment until he finally drafted a poem that he was satisfied with. Holding it up to eye level, he read through it, a small smile gracing his face. "Yes, I think that will do," he whispered to himself.  
  
Boromir was shrewd enough to know that he shouldn't interrupt Faramir while he was concentrating, even though he now had the burning desire to snatch one of the discarded bits of parchment and see what was written there. Stretching out his arms and legs and groaning loudly, he sat up abruptly, saying "Dozed off for a bit, sorry." He let his eyes wander over the sheet that Faramir held up. "What've you got there?" he asked, pointing at the freshly inked poem Faramir held in his slender fingers.  
  
Faramir hastily shoved the piece of paper behind him. "It's nothing," he said quickly, though a fine flush was slowly starting to spread across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Didn't look like nothing to me," Boromir said dubiously. "But suit yourself." He ran a hand through the blades of grass between the area where he and Faramir were lounging. "Are you hungry?" he ventured to ask.  
  
He placed a small rock on his papers to keep them from being scattered in the wind, and laid back in the soft grass. "Not terribly. I'm just enjoying being outside with you." He turned his head to the side and gave Boromir a grin, "Unless you tire of my company already."  
  
Boromir looked over Faramir's slender frame as he stretched out on the blanket of green, scrutinizing his brother. "Tire of you? No, never, rosebud. But I, for one, am absolutely *famished*." He absentmindedly plucked several blades of grass from the ground and knotted them in his fingers. "Will you at least come with me while I raid the buttery?"  
  
"If you insist." Faramir grabbed a handful of grass and deposited the blades into Boromir's hair before jumping off of the ground and sprinting away quickly.  
  
Boromir shook his head, scattering the grass to and fro, littering the sheets of parchment that remained on the ground securely in place underneath the stone. He lagged back and contemplated picking up the leaf of parchment Faramir had just inked. "Better not," he thought, and instead he scooped up several of the discarded ball-up sheets and discreetly stuffed them in his pocket before trotting after Faramir as they meandered their way to the storehouses.  
  
Boromir caught up to Faramir and quickly passed him as he dashed down to the fourth level of the city. "Catch me if you can!" he cried before darting behind a curving stone wall. When Faramir didn't appear with a grin on his face and another fistful of grass in his hand, Boromir peeked out from behind the wall and saw his brother stopped in the street as three boys his age circled him.  
  
"Let me by," Faramir mumbled, trying to brush past the group of boys. He didn't get far, however, before one of the burlier lackeys shoved him backward. "Please," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the ground, "Not today."  
  
"The little princess wants us to let him by!" the apparent ringleader laughed, shoving at Faramir's bony shoulder. "Should we let him? He might have an important ball to go to!"  
  
"I do hope he has his dress ready!" another teased, mocking a curtsey.  
  
"He's so scrawny that he couldn't even fit into a dress of my little sister's!" said the first. Faramir wrapped his thin arms around his weedy body self-consciously. As the name calling and jeering continued, he felt his eyes slowly well up with tears, though he knew well enough not to let them shed while the bullies were still there.  
  
Eyes narrowed lividly, Boromir came out from behind the wall and strode purposefully over to where the group of boys were taunting Faramir, grabbing one by the shoulders in each hand and putting himself between them and his brother. "What's going on here?" he asked fiercely, jaw clenched. "Well? Speak up, or I'll wring it out of you!" he cried as he effectively shielded Faramir from the boys' sight.  
  
Deciding it wasn't worth crossing the son of the Steward, they simply sneered at Boromir and left.  
  
Faramir quickly wiped away his tears before Boromir could turn to look at him and see the moisture in his eyes. "Sorry for the delay, brother!" he said cheerfully.  
  
"Faramir, what was that all about?" Boromir asked, his voice still harsh and marked with concern. "If they are bothering you then I would have you tell me." He grimaced and balled his hand into a fist, smacking it against the palm of his other hand. "I'd make sure they leave you alone...." he added ominously.  
  
He forced a chuckle and lowered his brother's threatening hands gently. "There was an archery contest not a few days ago," he lied smoothly, "And I won. They fancied themselves the best young archers in Minas Tirith, so it took them quite by surprise."  
  
Boromir looked askance down his nose at Faramir and reluctantly let his anger subside. "Jealous little fools," he muttered, easing the tension that still hung in the air. "No one's a better archer than Faramir of Gondor... not even Boromir." He grinned and took his brother by the hand, leading them down to the buttery that remained only a few paces ahead.  
  
***  
  
Boromir tried tactfully to get Faramir to eat, but his brother always met his efforts with a well-placed excuse or remark that strayed their conversation off topic. It wasn't until Boromir had downed four mugs of mead, a loaf of bread, and several wrinkled but still crisp apples that they got up to leave. Stepping out into the cool air, they saw that the sun had just begun to dip under the horizon and that some of the brighter stars were twinkling in the darkling canopy of sky. Boromir clapped Faramir's back as he breathed in the night air deeply, filling his lungs. "Ah Faramir, I can't say how glad I am to be spending my days with you again."  
  
"I am happier than you can even begin to fathom." Faramir gave Boromir a quick hug, breathing in his distinctive scent: the smell of the woods, and the fresh water of the river Anduin. It was a scent that Faramir could always recall, no matter how long Boromir had been away. After releasing his brother, he scrambled up onto a nearby white wall and stared up into the twilight sky. "I especially missed watching the way you eat! You know, as though father was going to outlaw food sometime in the near future."  
  
"You never know with him, he just might do that," Boromir chuckled, following Faramir nimbly up the wall and plopping down next to him. "And if he did, then I would run away forever to where there are no mad stewards, and I would take you with me." Scooting up right against Faramir, he nudged him with his elbow and turned his gaze upwards to the constellations peppering the heavens. He withdrew a smooth long-stemmed pipe and lit the pipeweed scrunched up in the bowl with a flick of tinder on flint that he always kept near to him. "Such a beautiful evening," he murmured, glancing sidelong at Faramir as he studied his brother's slightly gaunt but still dazzlingly handsome face.  
  
"The stars are singing to the White City because of your return," he said softly, eyes still turned to the sky. "They are as happy as I am that you are here again."  
  
"Do you really think so?" Boromir said soberly in a low voice. He continued to observe his brother's features, paying particular attention to the glimmer in Faramir's blue-green eyes as they shined under the failing light of the sun.  
  
Faramir turned and looked at Boromir in surprise. "Forgive me, I was not aware that I had spoken aloud." The customary flush reddened his cheeks, though it was hard to see in the failing light of the evening. Without realizing what he was doing, he slid away from Boromir, his brother's rich voice sending tingles up his spine. What is this? he thought to himself.  
  
Boromir raised one eyebrow at his brother's strange reaction and moved back next to him. "No, that was beautiful, Faramir," he soothed. "Beautiful just like you are, and like mother was. It reminded me of the songs she would sing to us when we were smaller but.... well, I suppose you don't remember her very well..."  
  
"You should not compare me to mother...I am nowhere near as beautiful as she was." Faramir hopped off of the wall backed and several paces away from it, putting more distance between the two of them. "But you're right, I don't remember her very well. Though I do remember the song she would always sing." He closed his eyes and started singing the sweet melody, the notes floating from his tongue like the gentle breeze that swept through the city.  
  
Boromir was hurt by the abrasive tone that Faramir's voice had taken when he chided Boromir for comparing him to their mother. "My apologies," he said quietly, remaining on the wall, kicking his heels against the white blocks of stone while puffing his smoke pensively. He would have smiled to hear the music flowing from Faramir's mouth but for the strange sadness that was settling over his heart as he saw more and more of the way Faramir had changed, how he had become so despairing and chillingly somber. //"Perhaps I should leave him be for the night,"// he thought.  
  
He finished the song and opened his eyes, waiting for the approving smile that he was certain would be on Boromir's face. The small smile he had garnered throughout the song fell immediately as he saw his brother's downcast countenance. "Boromir...Have I done something to offend you?"  
  
Boromir flicked his eyes up for a second before returning to staring at the ground below him. "No, no, it's nothing. Just thinking," he said as he waved a hand dismissively.  
  
"About what?" he asked, tilting his head much in the way a curious puppy would.  
  
Boromir smiled weakly. "You. And our mother." He felt very close and tight- lipped now, and slid off the wall, walking past Faramir as he made his way to his chambers.  
  
Faramir stood where he was, rooted to the ground momentarily. He had never received such a cold brush off from his brother before. "Boromir!" he called out to him, finding his voice again. He jogged to catch up with his brother, tailing him doggedly. "I'm sorry! Please, tell me what I've done!"  
  
"Do not trouble yourself with my moods, Faramir," Boromir said more sternly that he meant to. He paused mid-step and gave Faramir a searching look and ruffled his brother's curly hair affectionately. "I just need some time to think in peace, if you don't mind."  
  
Faramir stopped abruptly as though he had been physically shoved backwards by one of the bullies he had encountered earlier. "If that is what you want," he said evenly, though he felt himself physically wilt on the inside.  
  
He watched his brother disappear down the corridor without looking back at him once. He was alone again, though somehow it felt even worse than when Boromir had been leagues away.  
  
***  
  
Sequestering himself within the safe confines of his quarters, Boromir let out a loud sigh and he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Faramir's unmistakable changes were seriously bothering him now, particularly after all the evasive replies Faramir had given about his spindly frame, the crowd of taunting boys, and the secret scribbling on those bits of parchment.... the parchment! Immediately Boromir withdrew the balled-up papers where they had been forgotten in his pocket and sat down on his bed. He unfurled one and his eyes slowly widened as he read the delicately crafted prose written there. Eager for more, he uncrumpled the other sheets and soon his confused look was replaced with one of mirth and contentment. He was grinning broadly to himself with every passing line of poetry. Suddenly, Boromir sensed someone approaching and he hastily stashed the parchments underneath his pillow, not noticing the one that had floated down onto the floor next to the bedside.  
  
Faramir paused just outside of Boromir's room, staring at the heavy oak door sadly. He was en route to his own chamber, but was distracted as soon as he drew close to his brother's room. He simply looked at the door for a few long moments as though he were nothing more than a forlorn puppy. Shaking his head and reminding himself that Boromir had instructed him to simply leave him be, Faramir resumed his solemn walk back to his room. 


	2. Where much is revealed, but not too much

Author's Note: If sibcest squicks you, I suggest that you turn back now (or not read past the first chapter of the story). This is a collaboration between me and a friend, Jenn. I wrote for Faramir while she wrote for Boromir. Reviews are absolutely loved and welcomed (while flames will be happily used to make smores). Feel free to send Jenn a comment at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Faramir sat at the end of the table at the place furthest away from his father and simply watched the festivities, feeling withdrawn from them. He nodded politely whenever anyone smiled or motioned to clink their glass to his, but otherwise he simply pushed the food in front of him around on his plate. His eyes would frequently glance up to the head of the table where Boromir sat in a place of honor, just next to Denethor. He would look down, however, every time Boromir's eyes glanced up to meet his.  
  
Boromir was garbed in his finest regalia and seated in a sumptuous chair next to the Steward, Lord Denethor. He had downed several glasses of mulled wine already and was nursing his fourth cup... or was it his fifth? It didn't matter either way, because he was feeling pleasantly outside of his surroundings and losing himself in the buzz of conversation and music that hung in the air of the great feasting hall. His eyes wandered lazily from face to face lining the long table, and he smiled in return whenever a wizened face of a nobleman or blushing countenance of a young courtier nodded in his direction. Repeatedly he tried to make eye contact with Faramir, but he could tell that his brother was pouting about the other day when he had left Faramir alone after they had sat together and watched the stars come out.  
  
Faramir grew increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation swelled to a new volume; he had never been one to participate happily in large gatherings. He tugged at the high collar of his best tunic, trying to cool himself while he sat in the stuffy hall. His eyes would narrow every time he would see a simpering young woman doing her best to capture Boromir's attention, but would immediately stop himself, wondering exactly why he was so jealous.  
  
Denethor stood up, tall and looming over his guests while smiling broadly. He spread his arms out and announced in a booming voice, "Thank you, all of you, for your courtesy. My son Boromir will now say a few words of thanks, and then we may proceed to the rest of the evening's festivities." He motioned in the direction of the rabble of musicians gathered in the corner.  
  
Hearing his name, Boromir rose and smoothed down the front of his tunic and tossed his shining auburn-brown hair back from where it hung in strands over his face. He smiled brightly, and said "My friends, I thank you for coming here tonight to celebrate my homecoming. As always my dear father--" he inwardly choked on the words "--has gone out of his way to arrange this magnificent feast." Assorted claps and cheers came up from the crowd.  
  
Boromir quieted them with a small wave of his hand and continued, "Let us enjoy tonight in the spirit of our homeland." He raised his nearly empty chalice in a toast. "For Gondor!" he said, invoking the gathering to toast each other heartily. Once they had all clinked glasses, a round of applause came up and echoed around in Boromir's fairly inebriated mind. He laughed and sat down again, swallowing the remaining contents of the goblet.  
  
Faramir, however, did not applaud much to the dismay of those seated around him. As soon as Boromir had sat back down, he slid his chair from the table. Without so much as nodding to the guests of the hall, he abruptly left, seeking refuge from the overheated room and its loud festivities. He found solace out on a terrace very well removed from the hall, and he leaned against the stone railing, grateful for the quiet reprieve.  
  
If there was ever anything Faramir hated about Boromir's homecomings, it was the customary feast that was always held in his honor. He would be forced to watch as his father dote his attention on his older brother and, as usual, ignore Faramir's existence. He hated the way people would simply be pretending to hang onto Boromir's every word as though they would somehow gain his favor in doing so. He hated the loud conversations and uproarious laughter; they never said anything worth listening to. Even so, he would try to make an effort to look as though he was enjoying himself, for his brother's sake, but tonight was different. He couldn't even manage a forced smile to those sitting around him, and he could tell that his bleak countenance annoyed them.  
  
He sighed heavily and gazed out across Pelennor to the small twinkling dots of Osgiliath, fires belonging to the rangers defending the once-grand city. His mind flashed back to a small time he had spent there, not quite a year ago. Shaking his head, he dispelled the memory and turned his thoughts back to Boromir. While he had once been social enough to smile and bear the festivities, the only person he wanted to spend his time with now was his brother.  
  
***  
  
In mere moments, the table was cleared of guests as they had all stood up and flocked around Boromir and Denethor while others split off into groups where they danced to the throbbing beat of the music. Boromir smiled politely and spoke courteously to all that approached him, but after about ten minutes of the pleasantries he was becoming thoroughly *fidgety*. Denethor beamed at him every few seconds whenever another compliment was given to him, congratulating the steward's son on his outstanding accomplishments in defending the city and keeping their borders safe, and all while he was only twenty years of age! That irritated Boromir; it was always the same praise over and over again.  
  
A crew of elegantly dressed women were suddenly before Boromir and his father, along with their own father, a man named Damrod. He was grinning from ear to ear and said proudly, "My Lords Denethor and Boromir, allow me to introduce to you my daughters..." Damrod motioned to the three girls standing behind him, blushing pink up to their ears. The eldest spoke, stepping forward bravely and curtseying. "I am Lindorie." She smiled sweetly at Boromir.  
  
Boromir grinned stupidly, the alcohol coursing through his veins making him feel very free and easy. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked gently as he took her hand and kissed it.  
  
Damrod's face was alight with glee at the invitation. "Go ahead, daughter," he urged. Smiling brightly, Lindorie allowed herself to be whisked away into the crowd of people dancing around the hall, laughing lightly as Boromir's hand settled on the small of her back as he pulled her close to him once they fell into the feverish beat of the music filling their ears.  
  
***  
  
As hours ground on, Boromir consumed more and more of the wine that seemed to flow endlessly from the wings. Lindorie and he had been dancing together the whole evening, and the thought of finding Faramir had all but disappeared from Boromir's foggy mind. After a particularly energetic dance, Boromir collapsed laughing jovially in onto a pillowed couch with Lindorie following suit and sitting next to him, her hip flush against his thigh. Boromir reached for another glass of wine and offered it to Lindorie, who accepted the drink gratefully. Shadow partially veiled the two, and no one but she and Boromir noticed as her hand rested upon Boromir's knee, travelling slowly upward. "Lord Boromir, not only are you a renowned captain but also a talented dancer as well!" she crooned.  
  
Boromir chuckled low in his throat and planted a rather sloppy kiss on Lindorie's ivory white cheek. "And that's only scratching the surface," he growled. He felt Lindorie's small hand graze the fabric of his leggings on his inner thigh before they jumped up to toy with the collar of Boromir's tunic, pulling his face closer to hers.  
  
"My word, lord Boromir, but you are forward with your actions," she laughed wickedly.  
  
Boromir was grinning widely now and the hardness in his groin was becoming more and more obvious. "Indeed I am, my lady, it's the secret to my success." He hiccupped. "Would you care for a little privacy?" he murmured lustily as he fingered a stray curl of Lindorie's black hair which framed her carefully sculpted face perfectly.  
  
Lindorie responded with a falsely innocent giggle and rose, clasping Boromir's hand within her own. Quickly and quietly, she led Boromir outside to the balcony. Boromir immediately pinned her against the wall and pressed his lips roughly against Lindorie's sweet mouth, plunging his tongue forcefully past her teeth inside where he proceeded to explore every contour of her mouth. He did not notice the small figure wreathed in shadow watching them through tear-filled eyes.  
  
***  
  
Faramir had decided to simply retire to his room, tired of the ruckus that permeated even the secluded terrace. Unfortunately, the only way for him to return to his chamber was to pass through the rowdy hall, which had now descended into drunken debauchery, though he was sure that the participants were too intoxicated to know right from wrong.  
  
//I am glad that Boromir does not indulge in such inappropriate behavior,// he thought to himself as he elbowed past drunken courtiers. Not seeing Boromir, Faramir figured that his brother had gone to his chambers to find him, but that small hope was shattered as he saw the older man dancing provocatively with a, he had to admit that she was beautiful, black-haired woman draped over his body. He watched their antics, feeling something inside of him slowly starting to wither and wane.  
  
Following them secretly as they collapsed onto a isolated chaise lounge, well-separated from the rest of the hall. Careful not to be seen, he watched with increasing dolor as their limbs became tangled together, as Boromir ravaged the delicate female mouth with his tongue, mindless of anything else going around him. Tears sprang to Faramir's eyes as the pair continued to give in to their lust and he quickly stifled a sob before it left his lips and gave away his hidden location.  
  
Unable to torture himself any longer, Faramir slipped away quietly, making his way to his chamber with great celerity lest anyone see the copious amounts of tears that fell from his eyes. Once in the sancitity of his room, he flung himself onto the bed and cried bitterly. It was a ridiculous notion, Faramir, he berated himself harsly, //Did you honestly think that your brother would ever want you? When he could have the pick of any eligible man or woman in the city?//  
  
After a long while, his tears ebbed and he was left with nothing but an empty feeling in his stomach which seemed to grow with each passing minute that Boromir did not come to his chamber. He climbed out of his bed lethargically and went to sit out on terrace that was connected to his chamber. There, he sat on a stone bench and curled himself up into a small ball, almost as if he could disappear if he could draw into himself enough.  
  
***  
  
Boromir's hands had begun to roam up and down Lindorie's slim figure, his fingers hugging every swell and curved hollow of her flesh as he continued to kiss her heatedly. She squirmed and giggled every time their lips tore away from each other between kisses, and her hands skillfully made their way to Boromir's belt buckle, tugging gently.  
  
Boromir suddenly backed away, startled by the attempt from the woman to undress him. "What are you doing?" he asked harshly.  
  
"Just what you want me to do, lord," she replied pruriently, reaching for the open collar of his tunic.  
  
"You know nothing of what I want, my lady!" he cried shrilly, slurring his words. He shook his head in an attempt to remove the alcohol-induced fog that clouded his mental faculties and stormed back inside, leaving Lindorie feeling quite chagrined and alone.  
  
***  
  
Half-stumbling along the path to his chambers in the deep blue night, Boromir began to fully realize the magnitude of what had just precipitated on the balcony. "What was I thinking?" he asked himself aloud before hiccupping. The world seemed to be swimming before his eyes and was blurred all around the edges of his vision. Tripping on a loose brick on the pathway, Boromir tumbled forward face first onto the stone ground just before his chamber door. "Damn!" he yelled as he fell forward, scraping the palms of his hands on the ground as he tried to avoid hitting his head on the pavement.  
  
Faramir's ear perked at the sound of footsteps passing his room, a dull thud as a body hit the ground, and finally Boromir's voice swearing. Bristling, Faramir went out to see exactly what drunken activity his brother was participating in now, but he wasn't expecting to see the tall man sprawled out on the floor, long limbs splayed in every direction. He knelt next to Boromir though he made no move to touch him. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Faramir!" he shouted in surprise. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you. Why are you here anyway? You should be enjoying that stupid feast," Boromir garbled as he tried to get up without losing his balance and falling over again.  
  
He raised an eyebrow as his brother fell to the ground immediately after he had managed to raise himself to his knees. "I left the feast hours ago, brother, but you did not notice. You, however, seem to have stayed and enjoyed yourself a bit too much." Faramir's gentle voice was bitter, harsher than it had ever been. "Would you like help getting back to your chamber?"  
  
Boromir tried futilely to get to his feet alone; he somehow couldn't remember how to lift his knees without toppling over. "Please, some help would be greatly appreciated," he said as he blushed with embarrassment. He never liked being this way around Faramir, and the embittered tone that his brother's voice did not conceal cut through him like a hot knife through butter, making him feel even more guilty.  
  
Faramir hoisted Boromir off of the ground with a strangth that wouldn't have been expected of such a scrawny boy. Draping one of Boromir's arms around his shoulders, and wrapping an arm firmly around the older man's waist, the second son of the Steward set off towards Boromir's chambers, walking slowly so that Boromir could keep up. He did not say a word to his brother the entire way.  
  
***  
  
Boromir instantly crumpled into a heap once Faramir had guided him to his bed. His head was spinning, or were the walls simply moving on their own? He winced at the thought and coughed as he turned on his side, curling up. Boromir gave Faramir a pathetic look, "I do not ask you to stay with me, Faramir." He had completely forgotten about the stray leaf of parchment from before that he had let fall to the ground next to his bed as he had quickly stuffed the papers under his pillow.  
  
Without acknowledging that his brother had spoken, Faramir left the room momentarily only to come back with a small bowl filled with water. Kneeling next to the bed, he helped Boromir sit up, and pressed the bowl into his hands. "Drink this. It will clear your head."  
  
"I really hope that's not mead," Boromir said despite taking a generous gulp of the cool fluid into his mouth before Faramir could respond. "Thank you," he said softly, gazing into Faramir's cold blue-green eyes but totally oblivious to the prickly demeanor settling around his brother's features.  
  
"No, I daresay you've consumed enough mead for the both of us tonight." Faramir sat back on his heel and regarded his brother coolly. "You lips are swollen. Did you enjoy yourself with one of the courtesans? I hear they are more than willing."  
  
Boromir twitched at the mentioning of a 'courtesan.' He brushed his fingers over his lips and furrowed his brow. "Yes, they are more than willing. Disgustingly so," he muttered, shutting his eyes again as a sharp pang of discomfort rippled through his throbbing forehead.  
  
"I'm sure it did not disgust you at the time," he continued, looking down at Boromir unsympathetically. "Did you enjoy yourself with her?"  
  
Boromir looked Faramir straight in the eye. "If you must know, yes," he said acerbically. "But I stopped before she made a fool of herself and me... don't know why, exactly...." He looked up and down at Faramir's form, admiring the finery he was wearing and the noble way his mouth curved into a pair of perfect pink lips, and realized right then what had stopped him. Shaking the unbidden thought from his hazy mind he inwardly chastised himself for even thinking of his brother that way. "What concern is it of yours, anyway?" he added, this time in a softer, more gentle tone.  
  
Faramir's mouth worked open and closed though no words came out. "You're right," he agreed finally, "It is no business of mine what you do with yourself. I will leave you to sleep off the mead." He stood and turned to leave, but stopped when he heard something crinkle under his foot. Lifting the limb slightly, he looked down on what he stepped on; dread ran through his body faster than a bolt of lightning. He only needed a glimpse of the parchment under his foot to realize exactly what it was he had stepped on. Stooping slowly, he picked up the wrinkled sheet with a shaking hand and stared wide-eyed at the parchment filled with his own prose and poetry written in his immaculate handwriting. Prose and poetry about his older brother. "Where did you get this from?" he choked.  
  
Boromir opened one eye with great effort and focused on the wrinkled sheet of parchment that Faramir held. "Oh, I, erum... you had left it in the garden, and I picked it up for you," he fumbled.  
  
"You didn't read it, did you?" Faramir asked shakily, his back still turned to Boromir. He had forgotten all about the discarded leaves of parchment that he'd left scattered about the garden.  
  
"Erm... I skimmed through one or two of them, but nothing much," he lied, accidentally revealing that there were more leaves hidden somewhere in the room.  
  
Faramir whirled around to look at Boromir, his blue eyes wide with uneasiness. "Where are they? Why did you read them?!"  
  
Sobering up very quickly at Faramir's apparent alarm, Boromir sat up slowly and lifted the pillow. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't know--"  
  
Rushing over to the bed, Faramir began to snatch up the sheets of parchment frantically, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His cheeks flushed a brilliant red, mortification the only emotion running his actions. "I didn't mean any of it," he said quickly, turning to leave once he had gathered all of the half-finished poems.  
  
Boromir swiftly reached out and caught Faramir by the back of his shirt, jerking him backwards so that he nearly fell into a heap on the floor. "Don't."  
  
He stumbled several large paces backward, the force Boromir had tugged at his clothing knocking his small frame off balance. "Let go of me, Boromir!"  
  
"Why are you running away?!"  
  
"I'm not running away!" he cried, removing his shirt from Boromir's grasp. His entire body was shaking now as panic would set in. If his brother didn't want him before, he would certainly be disgusted by him now and never want to see his face again.  
  
Boromir stood up and managed to latch onto Faramir's arm, half keeping him standing upright as his head reeled and half keeping Faramir from fleeing. "Faramir, the poems that I did read were incredible, you've nothing to be ashamed about!"  
  
Faramir turned his head away from Boromir, unable to face his older brother. "They're nothing but childish prattle. They mean nothing."  
  
"Then why did I feel something stirring inside of me when I read them?" Boromir's question was phrased so innocently, so thinly that one would never have been able to tell that he was feeling extremely sick to his stomach as the candles lining his walls were dancing around wildly before his eyes.  
  
"Because you are not right in your mind, brother. They mean nothing, and you should not think on them an--" Faramir broke off shaking his head. His hands loosened from around the crumpled papers and he let them tumble to the floor. "It doesn't matter anymore," he whispered, removing his arm from Boromir's grasp and leaving the room.  
  
He didn't know why, but Boromir felt hot, stinging tears welling up in his eyes. "Faramir, don't just walk away from me..." he whimpered exasperatedly. That was one pointed difference between them: although Boromir was five years the senior, he was always less mature in handling matters of a broken heart than Faramir was. Tonight Faramir seemed so emotionally old, and it scared the living daylights out of Boromir. He began to follow his retreating brother. "Faramir, please!" he begged.  
  
Resolvedly walking back to his chamber, Faramir took deep breaths, steeling himself against his brother's pleas. "Boromir, please," he echoed, "I am not concerning myself with any relations you had tonight, just leave me be about this." He hid behind his door and closed it slowly, not wanting to see his brother's emotion ridden face.  
  
Boromir stumbled after Faramir, just missing his opportunity to slip inside as once he reached the door Faramir shut it firmly. "Faramir, open the door," he commanded without sounding angry or upset. Silence. "Faramir, open the door," he repeated in the same voice. "Faramir..." he started knocking. "Faramir! Rosebud!!"  
  
His back pressed to the door, Faramir slowly slid to the ground, his face in his hands. "Just go, Boromir," he whispered to himself, the pounding of Boromir's fist on the door mirroring the intense pounding of his heart.  
  
Boromir stopped his cajolings for a moment and let a tear roll down his cheek when Faramir did not respond. Then, with renewed purpose, he began beating on the door harder than before, crying "Faramir! Let me in... NOW!"  
  
Faramir was unable to ignore the desperation in his brother's voice any longer. Standing on shaky legs, he opened the door to his room only slightly, still hiding behind the large oak fixture.  
  
Boromir immediately lurched forward as the door opened unexpectedly. Regaining his balance, he slipped inside and shut the heavy door behind him. "Thank you," he whispered. Seeing that Faramir was trying to hide himself, Boromir reached out and pulled his little brother forward so that his chin could rest atop Faramir's curly topped head. He wrapped his arms around Faramir, drawing him in close and cooing softly as Faramir shook and gasped with quiet sobs. "Shh, rosebud... " 


	3. A revelation

Author's Note: If sibcest squicks you, I suggest that you turn back now (or not read past the first chapter of the story). This is a collaboration between me and a friend, Jenn. I wrote for Faramir while she wrote for Boromir. Reviews are absolutely loved and welcomed (while flames will be happily used to make smores). Feel free to send Jenn a comment at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You were never supposed to have read those," Faramir wept into Boromir's firm chest. It was almost as though his world had been shattered. For the entirety of the year that Boromir had been gone, those secret poems were all that had held him together; they had been his only outlet. Into those poems he had poured his soul, everything that had possibly been on his mind. How could Boromir not have been disgusted by what he had read?  
  
Boromir didn't even know where to begin to console the shivering form that was pressed firmly against him. "I'm sorry, Faramir. I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say as he stroked the back of Faramir's neck with his calloused fingers.  
  
Eventually Faramir's tears stopped and he regained his composure soon after. Wiping his tears away, he pulled out of Boromir's embrace and turned his back to him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a good deal calmer and more controlled, "I did not mean to lose myself in such a way."  
  
"You had every right to," Boromir murmured, not daring to touch Faramir for fear that he would recoil and send him away. He struggled with himself, wondering whether he should confirm every wish and adoration that Faramir had penned in his prose or whether he should hold his tongue and suppress the vague stirring in his mind and body whenever he was around him. //"It's not natural," he thought. "I shouldn't think of him in such a way."// He eyed Faramir's back, slowly moving his gaze down to the thin, drawn waistline and then to-- //"No!"// He looked away. "I still love you, Faramir. More than anything," he breathed just above a whisper as odd tingling sensations raced up and down his backbone.  
  
"You only say that because you have to," Faramir whispered, "Because you feel sorry for me." He turned to face Boromir, the lines of his face set strong and determined. "I do not want your pity," he said firmly.  
  
"Do not instruct me on how to feel, Faramir!" Boromir said with sudden and unintentional harshness. "I do feel sorry for you, because you're so afraid that I'll leave you one day and not look back! Well that will not happen, I assure you." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "If you are so bent on the notion that I only love you for sake of our kinship then you are seriously mistaken. Your poetry speaks louder than your own voice, louder than your tears and sobs."  
  
He stepped forward, leaving mere inches between his and Faramir's faces. "If you only knew the way I felt when I read the first line, nay, the first *word* on that sheet of parchment, then you would not be saying this." Then he kissed Faramir, full on his trembling lips. Realizing what he had let himself do he jerked backwards a pace, face pale with horror at the act and how Faramir might react. Mouth dry, he simply gaped and stood rooted like a tree to the stone floor.  
  
"What have I done?" Boromir choked, barely intelligible.  
  
Eyes wide with shock, Faramir traced his lips with his fingers, still feeling the tingle that Boromir's own lips had left. "Boromir..." he mouthed, though no sound was emitted.  
  
It clicked then that Boromir should apologize, and profusely at that, and he immediately found his voice again. "Faramir, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you or disgust you, I couldn't help it, I--" His cheeks were burning as blood turned his face several shades of scarlet. He reached for Faramir's hand and pawed at it, trying desperately to coax a reaction from him.  
  
Faramir's eyes flicked from Boromir's face to the hand caressing his own. "You... You did not..." he began, still stunned by what had just happened.  
  
Realizing that nothing he said could convince Boromir of the torrent of emotions that inundated his gentle mind. Breaking free of his paralysis, he threw himself at his brother at full force, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing himself to Boromir as much as humanly possible. "I love you, Boromir!" he sounded, "I love you more than anything else in this world!"  
  
Boromir's heart leapt with unbridled joy as he welcomed Faramir into his arms. "I love you, Faramir! I love you I love you I love you," he said over and over as his head spun with happiness; the effect of the alcohol had almost entirely worn off, whether by magic or something more tangible. He wanted to kiss Faramir again, wanted to taste him again on his lips without nerves or inhibitions hindering him. But since Faramir was securely plastered to his body, he couldn't bear to wrench himself free of the embrace. It was too perfect to let go.  
  
"The year you were gone was the most unhappy of my life, Boromir. I thought that it would never end. I thought that you would never return, and every day you were away, I felt I died a little more." Faramir's arms tightened around Boromir's waist, surprising the older man with the strength the scrawny arms possessed.  
  
Boromir gasped at the tight grip he was caught in, but decided to not say anything about it. He ran a finger along Faramir's cheekbone lovingly, "Die? Nay, you are too young to die," he breathed. Inside Boromir was aching: he knew that sooner or later he would be leaving again, and for how long no one knew. "I'm here, now, Faramir. There's nowhere I'd rather be."  
  
Faramir pulled away slightly, only just enough so that he could tilt his head and look up at his brother. "I'm almost afraid to blink for fear of this being a dream from which I must wake."  
  
Boromir's lips curled into a smile. "It is a dream, only a dream that's come true," he uttered tenderly. He chanced a quick kiss on Faramir's smooth forehead as his body seemed to burn like a where it met with Faramir's. He squirmed almost imperceptibly as he tried to mentally quell the desire radiating from deep inside of him out to the roots of his hair and the tips of his toes.  
  
Faramir's eyes lowered in rapture as his brother pressed his lips to his forehead, his long eyelashes casting sooty shadows on his pale cheeks. "I love you, Boromir," he whispered again.  
  
"This feels so right," Boromir sighed as he buried his nose in Faramir's hair, inhaling the sweet aroma of orchids there.  
  
"Because it is," he breathed, exhaling in complete and utter happiness. "Will you stay with me tonight, Boromir? I do not want you to leave just yet."  
  
Boromir didn't have to think about his response. "Yes," he blurted out, barely leaving any silence after the question had left Faramir's mouth. "Yes," he reaffirmed.  
  
If it was at all possible, Faramir's eyes lit up more, sparkling more brilliantly than they ever had before. Giving Boromir a glimpse of his childish nature that had all but disappeared, Faramir broke away from Boromir and bounded toward the bed, shedding the formal clothing he was wearing and tossing the garments to all corners of the room. He grabbed his dressing gown and tugged it onto his head before climing into the bed, sliding under the warm blankets. He slid to one side, making enough room for Boromir to join him.  
  
Boromir couldn't take his eyes off of Faramir's wiry body as he disrobed and hopped into bed, and a pang of worry stabbed Boromir in the chest because it was obvious enough that Faramir had taken to eating very little during his absence.  
  
"Come on!" Faramir chirped brightly, beaming at Boromir from where he lay nestled in the blankets.  
  
He was immediately brought back to the present situation and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I would have to leave to get changed, I fear, but I don't want to be parted with you for even one second," Boromir groaned.  
  
"Then remove your tunic and sleep in your breeches." Faramir beamed up at Boromir; to Boromir, he was the perfect picture of sweetness and everything good. "I promise I won't mind," Faramir joked.  
  
Grinning and checking his shyness at the door, Boromir effortlessly lifted the tunic up over his head and let it fall away into a heap in the middle of the floor, his muscles flexing in the motion and accentuating his strong chest. Kicking off his boots, he strode confidently to the bed and pulled back the coverlet. He positioned himself so that he was facing Faramir, their chests almost touching, eyes locked level with each other as they rested against the eiderdown pillows. "Hello there," he chuckled in a low, gritty voice as he grinned warmly.  
  
"Hello," Faramir said through a yawn. He gave Boromir a lazy smile and snuggled closer to him, enjoying the heat that radiated from his brother, and the feel of his smooth, bare chest. They had slept in the same bed more times than not as they had grown up together, but somehow, to Faramir, this time felt different. He felt complete, whole, and the feeling was more intoxicating than the headiest of wines.  
  
Boromir stretched his right arm out from underneath him and let it rest above Faramir's head on the pillow as he worried a strand of chestnut hair from Faramir's head between his thumb and forefinger. Tentatively, he snaked his other hand over to rest in the dip in Faramir's body between where the ribcage ended and the pelvis began. He felt a quiver pass through Faramir's slender form once he let his hand touch the smooth fabric of his dressing gown. "Sleep... I won't leave you," he whispered.  
  
"I should hope not..." His eyes lowered lethargically, sleep taking his body over quickly now that he was in the comfort of his brother's arms. "It took you forever to get here..." A loving smile played across his lips as he slipped into slumber easily.  
  
Boromir let Faramir sleep, but somehow he couldn't let himself shut his eyes. It seemed to him that a great burden had lifted from Faramir's shoulders judging by the sheer blissful contentment painted on Faramir's delicate features as he slept. Boromir thought that maybe now things would be better; Faramir wouldn't be so downcast and secretive about his feelings anymore, and maybe, just maybe he would go back to the way the old Faramir was: carefree and full of love and bubbling energy... and not so... so... *emaciated*.  
  
Boromir ran his hand along the contour of Faramir's side, following every groove in his brother's ribcage with his fingers. He looked again at Faramir's sleeping face. Pressing his lips to Faramir's forehead in a ghosting kiss, Boromir purred softly "Sleep well, Faramir."  
  
He turned his body slightly and snuffed out the candle that sat flickering on the table next to Faramir's bed before settling down for the night.  
  
Faintly, as sleep finally descended upon him, Boromir could hear the sounds of merrymaking in honor of his homecoming cutting through the still night. "I couldn't ask for a better thing to come home to," he murmured softly before letting his eyelids droop and close, the last thing he saw being Faramir's face. 


	4. Hide and Seek

Author's note: Since there was someone who decided to read on despite the warnings at the top of the story about sibcest, I will stress again that if you do not like such a thing DO NOT READ ON. I find flames funny, yes, but they are also quite unwelcome, especially when I put a warning in the story.  
  
Reviews and helpful criticisms are always welcome. Feel free to send my co- author, Jenn, an e-mail at jholsh1@towson.edu  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Faramir, where've you got to?" Boromir's voice rang out through the long stone corridor. He'd been searching for his brother for what seemed like hours, but it had actually only been twenty minutes or so when he had finished counting to a hundred and left the corner to begin seeking out Faramir from his hiding place.  
  
"Faramir?" he whispered into dusty corners behind forgotten doors and walls. "Faramir... come out, wherever you are..." He thought he heard a shuffling noise, like a rodent fleeing at the approaching footsteps of a predator, and he froze stock still. The sound had come from behind the door on his left. Looking down he noticed a pair of footprints in the dust before the door, and he smiled, reaching for the knob.  
  
Faramir watched his brother from Boromir's right, doing his best to stifle giggles that threatened to give away his hiding place. Like a good ranger, he careful erased his footprints in the dust, leaving only the misleading ones for Boromir to follow.  
  
He flung the door open and let out a victorious whoop of "A-*HA*! I've found you!"  
  
If Faramir was made of crude garden implements fashioned out of low-grade metal, then Boromir would have been right to feel accomplished. A rake clattered to the ground noisily and Boromir jumped backwards, a cloud of dust filtering out of the musty shed. He scratched the back of his head and knitted his brow, saying to himself, "Oh, hm, thought I'd got him." Exhaling, and sounding rather tired of this game of hide-and-seek, he turned about-face and grinned as his eyes fell upon the door now facing him. He tiptoed forward, a cry of his superiority as a seeker poised on the tip of his tongue.  
  
But when he flung open the door, Faramir was not there. He had taken the opportunity while Boromir was grappling with the garden rake to slip out from behind the door. He found a new hiding place at the end of the dusty corridor behind a large bundle of supplies. His small frame was hidden easily by the large packages, and he mentally congratulated himself for being able to outsmart his brother.  
  
"FARAMIR! I'M NOT HAVING FUN ANYMORE!" Boromir shouted, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back resoundingly. He tromped back up and down the corridor heavily, peering behind every door and nook again, but to no avail. Giving up, he began to exit the corridor but stopped under the arched entrance. He had sensed someone watching him, and he shifted his eyes from side to side furtively, scarcely breathing.  
  
And then something came at him from the left, barreling into him and taking him down to the ground in one hard swoop. A merry cloud of dust puffed up around them, and when Boromir regained his senses, he could see Faramir on top of him, grinning hugely. "Really," Faramir teased, "And this is supposed to be our great captain of Gondor. He couldn't even find his little brother in a simple little game of hide and seek." Faramir folded his arms over his chest and looked down at Boromir smugly.  
  
In one swift movement Boromir turned the tables and pinned Faramir underneath him with one hand pressed firmly down in the middle of his chest. Faramir, rendered immovable, was reduced to a bundle of squirms and playful yelps as Boromir held him down fast. "Ahh, but I can give my little imp of a brother what's coming to him for getting me covered in this infernal dust!" Suddenly Boromir's nose crinkled and he sneezed loudly, losing his balance and toppling over.  
  
Faramir stood from the ground and set about brushing dust from his clothing, as always a too-large hand-me-down from Boromir. He shook his mane of sandy-colored hair, expelling flakes of earth from his locks. "You really did give me what was coming to me. When did you develop a sudden aversion to dust, big brother?"  
  
Boromir slowly sat up, legs drawn up so that his elbows were resting on his knees, and rubbing his nose with one hand so as to prevent any further allergic reaction. "I don't think it's the dirt, I think it's you!" he gibed blithely as he pointed his forefinger accusingly at Faramir.  
  
Faramir's face fell instantly. "Well then I guess I should leave you on your own, then." He spun on his heel and started to walk from the dusty corridor.  
  
Boromir got to his feet and dashed after Faramir, proclaiming "Faramir, I was not being serious, it was merely in jest!" He caught up to his brother's retreating form and reached for his shoulders with gentle hands. "Faramir, come now..." Boromir was genuinely sorry that he had offended Faramir because his statement was entirely meant to be taken as a joke.  
  
"No, Boromir. If you do not want to be around me, simply say so."  
  
Spinning Faramir around to face him, Boromir looked hard into his brother's downcast aquamarine eyes. "Please don't run away," he whispered fondly as he lifted Faramir's chin with his forefinger. "Stay a while." Then he leaned in, lightly kissing Faramir's lips that were drawn into a pout.  
  
Faramir shoved Boromir away roughly. "No! I would hate for you to sneeze again!" He pulled away from Boromir and stormed off once again. Once he rounded the corner, he stood there, waiting for Boromir to chase after him, laughing to himself about his brother's gullibility.  
  
Just like clockwork, Boromir did not tarry for even one second and began pursuing Faramir. //What did I do now??// he wondered inwardly as he turned the corner where he last saw Faramir go.  
  
Faramir lunged himself at Boromir as soon as he came into sight, tackling him at full force and knocking him to the ground. Laughing heartily, he sat on his brother's chest and bounced up and down excitedly. "My dear Boromir, you are *far* too easy to cully! Did you really think that I would be upset by something like that?"  
  
"Yes! And it doesn't help that I'm an oaf when it comes to your brand of humor!" Boromir snickered. He moved his hands up, resting them on either side of Faramir's thighs where they framed his chest. "I must say, for all of your skinniness you're still rather heavy to be on top of me," he rumbled playfully, squeezing Faramir's legs.  
  
"Perhaps you are getting old!" Faramir raised himself slightly and then plopped back onto Boromir's chest, hearing a surprised grunt from the man pinned beneath him. He flushed slightly, though, at the intimate contact that Boromir was keeping with his legs.  
  
Boromir opened his mouth in mock surprise and offense. "Old? Me? Nay, you forget that we still have the blood of Numenor in our veins," he said, moving his hands further upward so that they were cupping Faramir's buttocks. "You'll have me around for a looong time yet, trust me," he said in lowered and throaty tones, punctuating his words with a light tap of his fingers on Faramir's flesh.  
  
//Boromir, what are you doing?// he questioned to himself in his head. He knew he should remove his hands from such a place, but some greater force kept him from obeying his intuition; an overwhelming desire pooling within him was moving him, and he didn't have the will nor wish to stop himself.  
  
His blush growing, Faramir shifted uncomfortably on top of Boromir. He was unaccustomed to the touch being placed on his body, but not entirely displeased by it either. "Boromir..." he said, nervousness apparent in his eyes.  
  
Entirely against his desires, Boromir's hands swiftly peeled themselves from Faramir's rump. "Did I do something wrong?" he inquired, worried.  
  
Faramir's eyes widened at the removal of his brother's hands, embarrassed by his naïve reaction. "No, not at all! I just..." He looked down and away, his cheeks flushing in their habitual fashion. "I am just...unaccustomed to such a touch...on my body. Forgive me," he said quickly, climbing off of Boromir.  
  
Boromir stood and smoothed down his raiment, also blushing pink on his cheeks. "I didn't mean to be so... forward," Boromir managed, despite the tingly sensation sparking in his groin. "I got carried away..."  
  
"No, you should not be sorry!" Faramir quickly rushed forward and threw his arms around Boromir's waist. "I need to stop being as skittish as one of father's young colts. I do want you to...to touch me, and I enjoy it, but there is something yet that still makes me nervous."  
  
"What is it?" Boromir asked gently as he picked up a lock of Faramir's chestnut hair. "I don't want to do anything you don't want to..." A smile surfaced on his lips as he spoke, thrilled to know that Faramir at least held a grain of desire for him.  
  
Faramir shrugged. "I don't know, but it is nothing for you to be concerned about." He pulled away slightly and ran his slender hands up Boromir's chest. They rested on the collar of his tunic, and Faramir used this to pull him down closer to him. "It will go away, I think," he whispered, feeling incredibly bold and daring, "If I have have experienced it enough." Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to Boromir's in an innocent kiss.  
  
Boromir's mouth spread into a grin and he rumbled in throaty tones, "Experience? I have some of that." He speedily returned Faramir's kiss, deepening the action by sliding his tongue against Faramir's teeth in an entreaty for entrance.  
  
Surrendering to Boromir's lips, Faramir parted his teeth so that his brother's tongue could slide into his mouth. Though he pulled back in slight surprise as Boromir's tongue started massaging his own, he slowly warmed to the sensation, mimicking the movements of Boromir's tongue. Faramir sighed breathily into his brother's hot mouth.  
  
Tinkling laughter suddenly pierced the air, along with lighthearted banter providing a backdrop to the giggles and squeals of female voices the women as they wound their way to the lowest circle of the city to begin their daily chores of washing, gardening, baking, and selling trinkets and produce. Boromir removed his mouth abruptly from where it was met with Faramir's and his eyes grew to the size of platters. "Hide, Faramir--!"  
  
Faramir gawked at Boromir, his lips still parted and moistened expectantly, but hestiffened when he heard the giggling that his brother had picked up on just seconds before. Grabbing Boromir's hand, Faramir ran back through the corridor and as far away from the approaching sound as they could get. From Faramir's lead, they ended up in a hallway filled with empty chambers used by guests whenever they would visit the city. Once they were safely hidden, Faramir let out a loud snort of laughter. "It would have been terrible if they had found us!"  
  
Boromir was slightly shaken by the close call. "It would have been terrible indeed," he agreed, trying to get his pulse to calm down. A hand against his stomach, just above his groin, instantly dismissed all thoughts of what could have happened if he and Faramir had been seen in such a compromising position.  
  
With his hand placed on Boromir's abdomen, Faramir carefully steered his brother into one of the vacant rooms, carefully shutting the door behind them. "Will you be able to kiss me here, or will we be disturbed by more jabbering maids on their way through the city?"  
  
Boromir shivered with excitement, firmly grasping Faramir's hips and pulling him close so that their lower bodies touched. "I think this place is private enough," he murmured before recapturing Faramir's wicked lips in a searching, languishing kiss.  
  
He let out a small gasp of surprise as Boromir pulled him suddenly toward him, his shy eyes wide with nervousness, but twinkling nonetheless. Smiling against his brother's lips, Faramir pressed himself against Boromir, wrapping his arms around the older man's neck and encouraging him to deepen the kiss by pulling him downward.  
  
Without breaking the sizzling contact between their bodies, Boromir guided Faramir to the small wool blanketed cot that lay in the dusty corner. Gently, so as to not alarm Faramir with his strength, Boromir brought him up to the side of the mattress where he plopped down once the backs of his knees touched the bedside. With Faramir now comfortably sprawled out before him, Boromir climbed atop him and lightly brushed Faramir's glistening lips with his own. "Are you all right with this, Faramir?" he asked breathlessly, airily kissing the corner of Faramir's mouth.  
  
Faramir blinked several times, realizing their positioning on the bed, how Boromir was on top of them, how his warm erection pressed against his leg, and how he felt himself becoming hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, intending to let Boromir do whatever he wanted, as though he could show how much he loved his brother by whatever physical thing they were to do.  
  
Boromir hesitated and eased off of his kisses, even though his hardness was brazenly evident and pressed against Faramir's trim thigh. "Faramir," he whispered again, "are you all right with this?"  
  
Sliding his wiry body out from under Boromir, Faramir pulled himself into a sitting situation. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, suddenly feeling very small and young. "I do not know," he admitted, his voice barely audible.  
  
Boromir sat back, his hands resting idly in his lap and his face marked with a look of gentle concern. "Faramir, do not feel pressured." He reached out and ran a finger down Faramir's shin, right along the tibia. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you," Boromir said quietly as the corners of his mouth turned up into a small, reassuring smile.  
  
Faramir shivered at Boromir's light touch, eliciting goosebumps to form along his arms. "You could never hurt me!" he insisted, his voice returning. "I want to do this, I really do! I just...can't," he finished lamely. "I understand if you do not want to have anything to do with this greenhorn."  
  
"Greenhorn!" Boromir laughed mirthfully. Realizing that someone might've heard him, he immediately lowered his voice. "Faramir, when I was your age I didn't even know where children came from, let alone know what to do in such a situation as... this..." He motioned vaguely, waving his hand between his body and Faramir's. Resting his broad palm on Faramir's knees, he smiled warmly, causing his eyes to sparkle like dying embers on a fire as the morning sun filtered in through the glass windows and fell upon his face. "If you can't do this, then I will not push you."  
  
Faramir found his hand to Boromir's cheek and caressed his stubbly skin, the small hairs tickling the palm of his hand. He studied the masculine face fondly before rewarding him with with one of his small, gentle smiles. "I will be ready eventually."  
  
Boromir nuzzled his cheek into Faramir's palm, nestling against the supple skin of Faramir's outstretched hand. "There's no hurry." He left a tiny kiss in the palm of Faramir's hand and brushed his lips against the digits, fanning them with his soft breath.  
  
"I do love you, Boromir. And I want to be able to show you, but I just can't right now." Faramir kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them to Boromir's lips. "Thank you for being so patient."  
  
They sat in silence for some time until Boromir finally spoke. "Come. Father will surely be looking for us, and now I am indeed feeling hungry." He stroked Faramir's cheek with his thumb in a loving motion, smiling drolly. Indolently, Boromir slid off of the cot and smoothed down his clothes, which were looking rather sloppy from the close contact with Faramir. Tugging his tunic back into place, he said bouyantly "I'm happy that you woke me when you did, Faramir."  
  
"You surely would have slept past noon if I had not, Boromir." Faramir climbed off of the bed and mimicked Boromir's movements, straightening his overly large clothing and righting his hair.  
  
Boromir ruffled Faramir's hair right after he had tamed it and stepped out of the guestroom. "Food... now," he said good-naturedly. //Though I shall be the only one eating//, he ruminated sullenly as an unspoken afterthought. 


	5. Sibling Rivalry

Author's Note: If someone would be kind enough to help me with italics, it would be much appreciated :-) I try to make an HTML document, but FF.net refuses to accept my code for some reason.  
  
As always, do not read through this chapter if sibcest squicks you. Please keep flames to yourself, as they are neither constructive nor nice. Reviews with constructive criticism, however, are very much welcome.  
  
Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The first hints of light shyly peeked over the horizon as the sun slowly began its ascent into the sky. Minas Tirith was bathed in a soft pink light as its citizens awoke to the dazzling sunrise. Standing in the stone courtyard of the Citadel and looking down at the residents as they bustled about, Faramir smiled softly to himself. Every once in a while, he enjoyed waking long before anyone else and from the seventh level of the city watching the sunrise climb over the horizon, turning the ugly mountains to the east beautiful for just a breath of a minute.  
  
Once the sun had risen and the six o'clock chime had been sounded, he abandoned the post he had taken and made his way back into the heart of the city. Gaily, he fetched his bow and quiver from his room before ambling down the hall to his brother's room. Pushing the door open, he slipped into the room quietly and went over to Boromir's bedside, a gentle look of fondness and love on his face which quickly turned into one of mischief as he prodded Boromir with the tip of his bow.  
  
Boromir batted his hand blindly at the thing that was poking him in the side. "Asfagah.. mmm, Faramir..." he groaned sleepily and contentedly as he rolled over.  
  
"Wake up, sleepy! It's time for you to see that your little brother is now the superior archer in Minas Tirith." Faramir crawled onto the edge of the bed and nudged his brother lightly. "Up!"  
  
"Bwuh?" Boromir mumbled tiredly. "Faramir, what on earth is the time?" He tried to sit up but Faramir was effectively trapping him under the blankets with his weight.  
  
"Just a bit past six in the morning." He discarded his bow and quiver before straddling Boromir's lower body and resting his forearms on his brother's shoulders. "It's time for you to get up."  
  
Boromir twisted erotically underneath of Faramir, lightly pushing his hips upward. He brought his hands around so that they each rested on Faramir's thighs. Low in his throat, he purred "Aww, must I get up? I'm so happy right where I am..."  
  
Faramir brushed his lips against Boromir's lightly, flushing at the heat from his brother's movements. "Yes, you must. You've slept too late as it is."  
  
Boromir swiped his tongue over Faramir's lips, leaving them shiny with his saliva. "Oh... well if you insist..." He clasped Faramir's thighs and dug his fingers into them, causing Faramir to flinch and keel over sideways, crashing onto the floor with Boromir following suit.  
  
Faramir hit the floor with a surprised grunt. "Boromir!" He tried to scramble up from the ground, but Boromir jumped on top of him before he could even get to his knees. "This isn't what I meant!" he said, laughing as the realized exactly their positioning on the floor.  
  
"Then what did you mean, little brother?" Boromir inquired innocently as he fumbled with Faramir's collar, seeking the warm flesh concealed underneath his tunic.  
  
"I meant that you should come and test your archery skills against mine. Though..." He felt himself growing warm as Boromir's fingers nimbly undid his clothing, "I suppose that could wait for just a bit."  
  
"Archery?! Why didn't you say so!" Boromir immediately got to his feet, leaving Faramir slightly hot and bothered. He quickly traversed the room and slipped off his clothes, not caring about Faramir seeing him undressed. He shot an impish glance over his shoulder, "You know how much I love beating you at target practice," Boromir lilted huskily as he slipped on a fresh tunic and pair of leggings before finishing off the ensemble with his favorite belt cinched about his narrow waist.  
  
Faramir watched Boromir dress, a comical look of surprise on his face. He figured that Boromir would have at least done *something* with him. He certainly wasn't expecting him to jump off of him so abruptly. "Archery...Right..." He stood up from the floor and collected his bow and quiver.  
  
Boromir grinned, walking over to where Faramir stood and he leaned in close so that their noses almost touched. It seemed to Faramir that he was about to kiss him, deeply at that, but instead he poked Faramir in the stomach and traipsed off, shouting "Come along, slow poke! The day is young!"  
  
Faramir stared after Boromir for a few moments, his lips wetted and slightly parted in expectation of the kiss. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he took off after Boromir. "You are nothing but a tease, Boromir!" he shouted merrily.  
  
Soon Faramir overtook Boromir, passing him with a cocky salute as his swift limbs carried him ever downwards through the winding ways of the city. Boromir let him beat him to the gate, trudging up feeling only slightly winded but in good spirits. He had to stop briefly at the armory for a bow and quiverful of arrows, delaying their departure by a few minutes.  
  
He emerged out from the armory, supplies slung over his broad shoulder, and walked over to Faramir who was hopping side to side on his feet with muted impatience. Boromir gave Faramir an amused look as if to say "what on earth has gotten into you?" before motioning to the guards to open up the gate. "Hope you're ready to get beaten today, Faramir," he quipped sunnily.  
  
"I hope you are ready to eat your words and realize that you are wrong!" he chirped back. His impatience quickly grew as Boromir delayed their departure with good natured taunts and jokes, and soon he grabbed his brother's arm roughly. Yanking him along the circumference of the city, Faramir ran to the small target area, set off a short distance behind Minas Tirith. Resting his bow on the soft earth, he leaned onto it slightly, regarding Boromir with cool nonchalance. "Well, let's see if your year away has improved your aim any."  
  
Boromir stuck his tongue out indignantly as he reached for an arrow. "Yes, we'll just see," he teased. He stretched his arms, loosening the limbs still clung to by the last fingers of sleep and stiffness. Out of the corner of his eye he followed Faramir's line of sight as his brother ogled his muscled body with what he thought was admiration and the faintest hint of desire glimmering in his cerulean depths. He notched an arrow into his bowstring, "Watch this!" He let the arrow fly, singing as it sprung from the stretched cord and hit his mark dead on.  
  
Faramir sighed heavily. "Oh...That was very good," he said, feigning great disappointment. "How am I ever going to be able to beat that, big brother?"  
  
"There's nobility to be found in trying, Faramir. Go ahead!" He beamed, overjoyed that he was home more now than ever, and thrilled that Faramir seemed to be falling back into his sweet and innocent old self, though he was still undeniably changed: more mature and aware of his emotions. Boromir felt like embracing him, but settled to purse his lips into a bemused smile as Faramir prepared to shoot.  
  
He sighed again, doing his best to look dejected, as though his brother had already won before he even had the chance to let loose his arrow. Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, one he had made himself with its own distinctive markings, he notched it onto the tight bow string. Pulling it back, he paused for a minute to contemplate his target intensely, imagining exactly where the arrow was going to land. He let go, and the arrow whistled as it cut a path through the air. It landed in the precise middle of his own target with a satisfying thunk.  
  
"Oh, look," Faramir said sweetly, turning to give his brother a smug look, "I do believe I was closer to the center than you. It must have been luck."  
  
Boromir grimaced, not faking his displeasure at all. "Lucky shot," he spat vituperatively as he jabbed Faramir in the side with the tip of his bow.  
  
"You're right, it was. I think you're my luck, Boromir. I was not able to shoot nearly as well when you were gone. Let me try again." He notched another arrow and launched it at the target in a similar manner as the first time. It landed again in the center of target, right next to the first. "Really, I'm never this good," he said with false modesty, doing his best not to smile.  
  
If at all possible, Boromir frowned even more intensely, his face contorted into a rather fierce-looking scowl, although he really didn't mind too much that Faramir was gloating. //He really is a wonderful archer, though,// he admitted silently. "I know, I'm so inspirational," Boromir said, words dripping with sarcasm. He snatched another arrow and cocked his bow, shutting one eye as he focused on the target before him. He let the arrow go, and it landed several inches from the centre. "Damn!" he snapped under his breath.  
  
Faramir's eyes twinkled as he watched his brother slowly become more frustrated as each following arrow landed further off of its intended mark. "You should calm down and concentrate. You'll never hit anything by flinging your arrows around like that." Faramir had returned to leaning on his bow, watching his brother's athletic build as his muscles worked the wooden weapon. He had not fired any arrows since his first two, opting instead to chide his brother.  
  
Boromir flung his bow down in frustration, the weapon skidding across the ground until it stopped at the wall with a hollow clacking noise. He turned around and walked in circles with his hands balled up into fists and a peevish expression marring his fair face. Faramir was trying valiantly to keep from laughing, and Boromir could see his brother's shoulders shaking from holding his giggles inside.  
  
"Is there something wrong, Boromir?" he asked gently, knowing full well that his brother hated being bested in anything. "If you would like, I could give you a few pointers. It might improve your aim. Or perhaps it is the bow you have...I know I don't like using the generic bows from the armory."  
  
"Yes, the bow!" Boromir exclaimed. He went over and nudged the rejected weapon with his boot disdainfully. "It's the bow," he muttered, teeth clenched and cheeks flushed red out of humiliation for being out-done by Faramir.  
  
"Let me see if I can get it to function properly." Faramir went to retrieve the discarded bow. Running his hand over the wood, he pretended to examine it closely for any faults that may have distorted Boromir's aim. Grabbing an arrow from the also discarded quiver, Faramir set himself up in front of Boromir's target. He notched an arrow and released it easily, the arrow sailing through the air and splitting Boromir's first arrow in two.  
  
"I don't see anything wrong with the bow, Boromir."  
  
"Give me that," Boromir said petulantly, grabbing the bow from Faramir's strong fingers. He scrutinized the hand grip questioningly, his brow furrowed in a very thoughtful and concerned expression. "No, no, look. The handle is cracked. It's not me, it's the wood, it's warped to uselessness." He slid the bow swiftly behind his back so that Faramir wouldn't look again and discover he was fibbing. //How on EARTH did he do that??// Boromir wondered, gaping at the twain arrow splayed on his target.  
  
Faramir retrieved his own bow and studied the craftmanship carefully. "I will have to make you your own, then." He proffered his bow, smiling. "I made this one myself, and it serves me well. Would you like to try it?"  
  
Boromir smiled, corners of his mouth upturned merrily. "Nay, it is yours, I am afraid that my lack of ability at archery would curse your weapon," he said as he raised a hand in polite refusal.  
  
Faramir's posture straightened, his height seeming to grow several inches out of pride. "Do you admit that I may actually be better at something than you, Boromir?"  
  
"Pardon? I said no such thing!" Boromir scoffed. He let his eyes wander up to the rapidly brightening sky, and he inhaled the scent of fresh dew on the grass deeply. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" he intonated coolly, veering the conversation his own way. He began to whistle a tune to himself as he watched a pair of hawks circle the mountaintop.  
  
"It is lovely because you are out here with me." Faramir looked up at Boromir and gave him a loving smile. "It seems like every sunrise has been brighter, more resplendent." He took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp morning air. "Would you like to go raid the buttery? I'm sure you're absolutely *famished* after all of this hard work."  
  
Boromir raised one eyebrow partially. "You're hungry?" Boromir found it hard to believe; Faramir had definitely let himself get frighteningly thin, and he found it quite surprising that he would suddenly suggest engaging in an activity involving food. //Another concern to address somehow,// Boromir noted as he looked casually over his brother's muscular yet fleshless arms and legs.  
  
"On your behalf, brother, on your behalf. I have already taken breakfast today." Faramir walked over to the target and removed his unique arrows, stashing them back in his quiver. "You, however, have a look on your face as though you have not been fed in a week's time. It is quite pitiful, actually." He bravely took Boromir's hand, lacing his fingers through his brother's, and started leading him back around the city.  
  
//That's it,// Boromir thought. //I have to say something, even if it means risking his affection.// Squeezing gently on Faramir's hand clasped with his own, he asked "Faramir, why are you so thin?"  
  
"I'm not," Faramir said quickly. He tugged on Boromir's arm insistently. "Come, you must be famished after all of that superior archery," he cajoled, doing his best to draw Boromir's attention away from his bony frame.  
  
Boromir wrenched his arm from Faramir's grasp. "Famished? What about you? I see the way your bones stick out, Faramir, and it seriously grieves me," he said, stopping and looking Faramir in the eye exasperatedly.  
  
Faramir looked down, rebuked. His brother's harsh action almost threatening to destroy the good humor he had managed to glean in the weeks after Boromir's return. To explain exactly why his body was in the state it was would require speaking of things that he would rather keep hidden, from Boromir most of all. "I am perfectly fine, Boromir!" he said, speaking at last, "I have been growing, as you can tell. I'm sure you remember the way you look when you were my age. All legs and arms; you looked awkward!"  
  
"My intuition tells me that there is something more to be said here, Faramir," Boromir said, voice flat and commanding, similar in edge to their father's. Immediately he regretted the gruff tone he used. He reached out and touched Faramir's elbow in a small endeavor to bring him nearer, "Faramir, just talk to me, let me in," he wheedled placidly.  
  
Faramir jerked his elbow away sharply. "There is nothing to tell. Why should I have to bow to you as well as to him?" he spat as though he was too disgusted to even acknowledge that Boromir had reminded him more of his father in that one sentence than he ever had before. "There is nothing to tell," he said one more time before storming off.  
  
Boromir didn't even try to stop him as he walked away in a huff. Frustrated and completely bereft of a clue as to what he should do now, Boromir struck the wall in an outburst of rage. Once Faramir had passed out of his vision, Boromir returned to the gate and rampaged up to the seventh tier where he would try and seek someplace to hash out his thoughts, and hopefully relax before encountering Faramir again.  
  
***  
  
Still fuming, Boromir found himself heading toward the tiny garden that he and Faramir frequented. "What am I supposed to do? He clearly wants to tell me but he just won't. What's the matter with him? Oh, help," he griped aloud, lost in thought as he approached the flowering nook.  
  
Boromir was jerked out of his pensive state by footsteps treading on the grass of the garden but did not turn to see who approached. He hoped in his heart that it would be Faramir coming to confess everything, to finally let him it, but it registered that the footsteps were too heavy. He looked up and his heart sank as he saw his father and the expression on his face, the look of pride as he gazed down at his first son, pride mixed with the high expectations that he held Boromir to.  
  
As he walked toward Boromir, Denethor's long, fur trimmed cloak disturbed the delicate flowers that Faramir had so carefully planted. "Why have you hidden yourself here, Boromir? I have been searching for you all morning!"  
  
Boromir whirled around, rudely snapped from his contemplation. "Oh, father. I was with Faramir, we were practicing our archery. What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" he said as politely as possible without revealing the contempt he felt surging up inside of him like a geyser. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the heavy train of Denethor's robe mow down the fragile flowers, snapping a bundle of creamy white petals from the blooming orchids.  
  
"Important matters, Boromir. Important matters that I wish to speak to you about." Denethor's mouth twitched as it balanced somewhere between a sneer of contempt at the mention of Faramir, and a gaze of fatherly love as he looked down at his favorite son. "I wish that you would stay close to the Citadel in case I have need for you. Faramir can occupy himself in some other manner."  
  
"But Father, he pines for attention, and I wish to spend as much of my time with him as I can!" Boromir protested, voice rash and almost belligerent. Seeing the chill glare in his father's eyes caused him to avert his gaze to the ground and mutter "I apologize for speaking so."  
  
"As you can see he has already affected your behavior which used to be of propriety." His eyes grew hard as he imagined what effects Faramir would continue to have on his cherished first-born. "I do not want to speak of Faramir; Faramir does not concern me. We have business to attend to that is far more important than one of such weak character."  
  
"Yes, father," Boromir said, subdued. Denethor moved a step closer and ushered Boromir out of the garden, hand on his back between the shoulders.  
  
"Boromir, there is trouble afoot on the borders of Gondor. I worry because our forces are not what they once used to be. I need your help." Denethor stopped walking and turned Boromir around to face him, hands planted firmly on both of his shoulders. "I want you to take a patrol out to investigate. I trust that you will be able to quell any trouble that arises."  
  
"But father, I've only just returned! Send one of the other captains out, I wish only now to rest!" He brought his hands up and held his head, threading his fingers through his chestnut hair as he turned to look away from his father's haggard face. They were now standing within earshot of Faramir's bedchamber, and Boromir bit his lip praying that no one could hear them speaking.  
  
"There are no other captains that are as capable as you. Would you deny your father the chance to make sure that the borders of his domain are secured by one he knows is able beyond others?" Denethor spoke gently to Boromir, though there was an underlying harshness of demand in his voice.  
  
Turning sharply on his heel Boromir faced Denethor again, eyes steely and flashing dangerously. "The outposts guarding our borders need but minor reinforcement; I have seen them and they are strong and honorable men there. My place is here," he said firmly. Anyone passing would have sensed the two silently battling each other in their minds, their stares were so defiant and piercing. "Please," Boromir pleaded firmly. "Allow me to remain here."  
  
Denethor glared at Boromir for a long while, seeing if he could get his son to yield. Finally he acquiesced, seeing that Boromir was not going to back down. "You have only just arrived back here, this is true. Even the bravest warrior needs to take a bit of rest. I will not send you back on on patrol just yet. I do want you to draft your strongest men and send them out for reinforcements. That is your assignment."  
  
"I will do that," Boromir said as a cocky smirk played on his lips. "Is there anything else you would have me do, my lord?"  
  
"I would that you spend not so much time with Faramir. I do not want for your admirable qualities to diminish, and I fear they will in the presence of one such as him." A sneer developed once again on Denethor's wizened face. "There are some people that cannot be fixed, no matter what is done to correct them."  
  
Boromir narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.  
  
"It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Boromir. Just know that nothing good can come of your brother." Turning on his heel, Denethor swept off, not giving Boromir another chance to query his foreboding words.  
  
Now more than ever Boromir wanted to press Faramir for answers to the doubts and questions filling his mind, and it just so happened that now was the time when Faramir least wished to be near him, much less speak. He watched Denethor mount the staircase and return to the throne room where he would fritter away the day, hopefully without any further need for Boromir's audience.  
  
Boromir glanced over to Faramir's door and saw that it was opened a crack. He crept over and called out as softly as possible, "Faramir? Are you in there?"  
  
TBC... 


	6. Confessions

Author's note: This chapter is short, but sweet. We figured this would be a pretty clean ending to this chapter, and felt that there was no need to flesh it out further. There are more things to come, though, in the next chapter! I promise!  
  
As always, do not continue to read if sibcest squicks you. Please keep flames to yourself, and bring on the constructive criticism! We LOVE comments! Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to leave them so far; we really appreciate it :-)  
  
Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Faramir sat huddled in a small corner of his bed, his eyes red with unspilled tears. In his hands he worried a dainty ivory hairpiece that his mother used to wear to adorn her hair. When Finduilas had died and been buried, Denethor ordered for the chambers that he and his wife had shared to be shut off; no one was allowed access.  
  
Before it had been sealed off for good, Faramir snuck into the room and collected his mother's favorite things; he felt that she was coming back and would hate for her favorite belongings to be shut away from the world. Finduilas had always allowed Faramir to play with and admire the ornate comb with its glass butterfly, knowing that he was more careful than his rash older brother.  
  
The comb had always been a source of comfort to him, even after he had grown older. To him, he could still feel his mother's presence lingering in the small adornment though her scent had almost completely faded away as the years wore on. In the year that Boromir was gone, Faramir found the comb in his hands more often than not. It was one of the few things left he had of his mother since...  
  
"Faramir? Are you in there?"  
  
Looking up with a start, Faramir's hands loosened and the comb fell to the bed, forgotten. //No, Boromir, please go away,// he pleaded silently, wishing that his brother would cease his needling.  
  
Boromir's hands were balled-up into fists and he suddenly felt like he was about to cry. //I hate how I always manage to drive him away when my intentions are good,// he thought bitterly. //I can never do anything right, I never know what to say to him...// "Faramir, I will leave you be, if you wish it," he said to the door. "But I hope that you find it in your heart to let me in." Without another word, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, and he didn't look back because he did not expect any answer.  
  
He stopped abruptly, immediately feeling a pang of guilt pierce his heart. //I can't just leave him, he'll never come to me...// Boromir turned halfway, his eyes fixed on the double doors leading to Faramir's room. Risking earning his brother's disdain, he traversed the distance to the entrance and slowly moved the door further ajar.  
  
Faramir's sad eyes looked up to see who was at the door, but immediately flicked back down to the bed once he saw Boromir's head hesitantly poking through the crack in them. "Surely there is some pressing matter of Minas Tirith that you should attend to, brother. You cannot trouble yourself with me."  
  
"The only pressing matter at hand is between you and I, Faramir," Boromir said with effort, as his emotions threatened to govern his actions and make him snap at Faramir's reticence and callous brush-offs. "May I enter?"  
  
Faramir shrugged his shoulders, trying to force himself to seem unbothered by anything. "If you wish."  
  
Boromir shoved past the doors and remained just before the entrance, up on the stone step that stood up a few inches from the cold floor. He folded his arms across his broad chest and looked Faramir straight in the eye with a smouldering gaze. "Why do you push me away, Faramir?"  
  
"I do not push you away, Boromir," he replied automatically. Faramir's slender hands found the small comb on the bed again and began fiddling with it nervously.  
  
"Then why do I feel so detached from you?" Boromir asked softly, stepping down from the entrance and moving nearer to where Faramir was huddled up on his bed, turning something over in his hands.  
  
"You were gone for a year, Boromir," Faramir started quietly, feeling his resolve slipping, "and I have changed much in that time. I'm sorry if I am not the same little brother that you once knew."  
  
The frustration clouding Boromir's thinking was quickly replaced with disquiet. He was now standing next to Faramir's mattress and tentatively he sat down, leaving plenty of space between his body and Faramir's. He realized that Faramir's face, though still young and angelic, was marked with lines of pain and suffering that hadn't been there before. "Faramir, what happened... while I was away?" Boromir questioned, voice scarcely above a murmur.  
  
Faramir swallowed hard, his budding Adam's apple bobbing up and down visibly. "I missed you terribly." He dared to look up at his brother, and almost blanched at the amount of concern that was written on his face. "I don't mean to be so distant." He was still loath to admit what had happened to him, although almost a full year had passed since.  
  
Boromir's gentle green eyes softened a little and he relaxed his shoulders. "I know you don't mean to be... it's just difficult to know how to be close to you again, without... well, asking you.."  
  
Faramir gazed back into Boromir's sympathetic eyes beseechingly. "Please, I can change. I can learn to be close to you again."  
  
"Faramir, do not feel that you have to cater to my... wants," Boromir managed to say. "All I want is to have no secrets driving a wedge between us," he finished. He longed to touch Faramir but restrained himself, not wanting to suggest that he only desired physical attachment with his brother.  
  
His hands returning to their fidgeting, Faramir looked down at the small ornament in his hands. "Do you remember those bullies...From the first day you were back?"  
  
Boromir nodded attentively but said nothing. His eyes moved down to Faramir's hands and he tried to descry what it was that Faramir was holding.  
  
"That day was not the first day I had problems with them. They used to harrass me constantly. Especially after you left. And then one day..." Faramir took a shuddering breath. "One day it went beyond just teasing. They...They shoved me around and pushed me in the mud," he admitted, though he grossly simplified the events. "Father found out, and he said that I was nothing more than a weakling."  
  
"Go on," Boromir urged. He scooted ever so slightly nearer to Faramir, but still kept his distance so as to not jeopardize Faramir's comfort.  
  
"So he sent me out into the wild so that I could know exactly what a hard life is..." He shuddered at the memory of what happened after he had been forced to leave the city, but chose to keep it from Boromir. Nothing will help the situation now anyway, he thought to himself. "I had to kill, and I hated it. I hate violence," he finished.  
  
Boromir's eyes flashed violently at the confession. "He sent you into the wild? On your own?" His teeth were clenched and his hands shook with rage.  
  
Faramir dared to reach his hands out and still Boromir's with his own, lacing his fingers through his brothers. "I was fine, but it...I suppose it forced me to grow up."  
  
Boromir shook his head in disbelief. "No, no, that was not right." He moved to stand, but Faramir's strong grasp on his wrist stopped him.  
  
"Boromir, what's done is done. There's nothing you can do about it now," Faramir said firmly. "Nothing happened to me, and I came back all right. Maybe father was right, maybe I needed to become accustomed to a hard life so that I could understand all that I have here." //You say you love him, Faramir, but why do you lie to him so?// his heart taunted.  
  
He turned halfway and peered down at Faramir, eyes threatening to mist and well with tears. "I never would have let him do such a thing to do, Faramir," he said shakily before pulling Faramir up close to him and nestling his nose in Faramir's waves of sandy hair.  
  
"But you weren't, and I had to deal with it on my own. And maybe I am better for it, but I have changed. I can't help that." Faramir's eyes were now dry, despite the odd tear that fell into his hair as Boromir held him close. When he spoke, his voice was even and almost emotionless.  
  
"Faramir, I..." But there were no words that Boromir could think of that would allay Faramir's pain, and it hurt Boromir deeply to know he was helpless to do anything. All he *could* do was hold him tight and try his hardest to control his emotions, since the last thing Faramir needed was for his brother to be weak.  
  
"You don't have to say anything, Boromir. It's over and done with, and I am still here in one piece." Faramir allowed Boromir to hold him for a few more minutes before pulling away. "So that is what you wanted to know."  
  
Boromir worked his jaw open and closed, totally bereft of his voice. All he wanted to do was hide Faramir away inside of himself so that he could never let anyone harm his brother again, most of all their father. Tentatively he planted an airy kiss on Faramir's forehead.  
  
Faramir looked up at Boromir, rewarding him with a smile, though Boromir wasn't sure if it was genuine or forced. "I will try to do better from now on." 


	7. Departure

Author's Note: This chapter was written all by the lovely Jenn. Please send all of your praise to her at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
There is no sibcest in this chapter. This goes back one year to when Boromir is getting ready to leave for his twelve-month journey. Boromir and Faramir are 19 and 14 respectively.  
  
Reviews and constructive criticism are always very much welcome :-)  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Before dawn, Boromir was awake and preparing to depart. Where he was to go was to the Gondorian borders, visiting the outliers of hamlets and military outposts that lay very near the neighboring territories to the north, south, and west. The steward had received tell of raids upon the defenseless villages by ragtag troops of orcs and wild men, pillaging and burning towns while invoking fear and terror into the hearts of the pilgrims settled far from the White City. "The garrisons are all but snuffed out," Denethor stated, tone grim and icy as usual. "As High Captain of the Citadel, I ask you, Boromir, to restore order."  
  
What other task would he have Boromir, the golden child and future steward, do? The command was inescapable, and with a spirit bent on keeping his beloved land secure, Boromir acquiesced. He had known very well that danger was afoot on the borders of their realm; it seemed that each day more bands of men were sent to reinforce a vulnerable fort. It was only a matter of time before a travelsick messenger galloped to the gate with a dispatch for aide, calling for Boromir's exceptional skill as a captain and leader of men. Boromir rued the day when it came, but as he had begun to understand, there was more to life than frittering away the days away as he saw fit. He had responsibilities, duties. No more carefree mornings and idle pastimes, but above all, no more langorous afternoons with Faramir, tucked away in their garden or exploring the shady glades outside the city.  
  
But Boromir understood all of that, and had accepted it as the way things were, just another part of growing up. The only sticking point was the short notice. It was not until the night before he was to leave that Boromir had received his assignment, right on the eve of Faramir's fourteenth birthday. Denethor knew full well the depth of affection that his firstborn harbored for Faramir, but nonetheless Boromir was to leave at first light. "Do not trouble yourself with that brat of a brother you have - he will get over it." Boromir's mouth always burned with gall at the disparagements.  
  
"But father, it's his birthday! Could I not wait until that has passed to leave on this errand?" His voice was brash, defiant. Boromir had not grown up so much emotionally, despite his ability as a fighter, as he still retained an impetuous streak.  
  
But of course the answer had been no, flat out, and Boromir was powerless to challenge the steward's rule.  
  
The sky was just beginning to brighten as the first rays of the sun illuminated the roof of clouds as night gave way to day. Boromir was saddling his horse in the stables with a heavy heart. Outside, twenty of his best men, most of them older than he but less skilled in leadership and warfare, were milling about collecting foodstuffs and spare gear for the impending excursion, items that would be essential for a journey projected to span twelve months. Boromir, too deep in sorrow at his parting from the city he loved, did not hear the soft footfalls on the hay blanketing the floor approaching timidly as he slung his heavily-laden saddlebags over his steed's back.  
  
A small tug on the sleeve of his tunic jarred him back into cognizance. He whirled around to see Faramir, still garbed in his threadbare nightclothes, staring up at him with doe eyes. "Oh, Faramir..." he breathed, a cloud of remorse clouding his rugged, handsome face.  
  
Faramir's eyes rapidly began to glitter with unspent tears and his lower lip trembled. "Boromir, where are you going?" Faramir asked in a thin, tinny voice that threatened to crack with emotion.  
  
Boromir averted his eyes; he could not stand to leave his brother like this. "Faramir, you should be in bed..."  
  
"Where are you going?" Faramir reiterated, this time shrilly and with more force. A stray tear spilled over his lower eyelid and rolled down his rosy cheek as he sniffled.  
  
Boromir reached out, bringing Faramir flush against him, holding his quaking shoulders with strong hands. "Father bids me to depart immediately for the borders," he said solemnly.  
  
"But it's my birthday, today, Boromir!" Faramir sobbed, face buried against Boromir's stomach and his tears staining the fine cloth of Boromir's raiment.  
  
Stroking Faramir's messy hair, Boromir cooed softly "I know, rosebud. I begged him to let me remain another day, but... he refused." The last words were barely audible as Boromir found it difficult to keep his grief in check.  
  
"But you've never missed my birthday before!" Faramir cried, though it was muffled against Boromir's abdomen.  
  
Boromir knelt down so that Faramir's sorrow-etched visage was just above the top of Boromir's sandy head. He grasped Faramir's thin forearms tightly and looked hard up into Faramir's moist cornflower blue eyes. "I'll be here, Faramir."  
  
"You won't! You'll be leagues away!"  
  
"Shh. Physically I will be absent, but I will always be here in spirit, Faramir."  
  
Faramir took a shaky breath in an effort to steady himself. "It's not the same," he croaked woefully.  
  
Boromir brought Faramir closer and nestled his face against Faramir's chest, breathing in the delicate scent of orchids that always seemed to linger around his brother. "I do not want to go, Faramir, but I must." Gently, he left a kiss on the ivory white skin just visible under the open collar on Faramir's shirt.  
  
A teardrop splashed onto Boromir's cheek as Faramir unleashed his misery, sobbing and quivering as the tears fell. Boromir suppressed a gasp himself, and reached up to wipe away the hot, salty moisture staining Faramir's porcelain cheeks. All of a sudden, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a smooth figurine hewn from the finest, purest marble. It was in the shape of six-pointed star, one of which had a hole drilled through it as if it could be worn as a pendant.  
  
"What's that?" Faramir asked, his childlike curiosity shining through.  
  
Boromir held the trinket up to Faramir between his fingers. "This is something that our mother had. She always wore it on a silk cord around her neck." He paused, seeming to be reflecting back to a decade ago when their mother was still living, searching for an old image of her wearing the amulet.  
  
He sighed, breaking free of his reverie. "She gave this to me shortly before she passed. Father doesn't know about it. Anyway..." he looked up into Faramir's glimmering, wide eyes... "I'm giving it to you."  
  
Faramir hesitantly ran a small finger over the cool stone surface, fingering the finely crafted points. "But she gave it to you, Boromir," he whispered in uneven tones, though a dim ray of hopefulness surfaced in his azure eyes.  
  
"It's yours now, Faramir," Boromir said as he folded his brother's hands over the amulet. He got to his feet and used his thumb to remove the final drops of moisture from his brother's tender cheeks. "It's to remind you that we're both always connected, rosebud, and that the stars you see in the White City are the same stars that I can see from the wilderness."  
  
Faramir smiled weakly, and his angelic face brightened a little. "You'll come back soon, though, won't you?"  
  
Boromir struggled with an answer. //I cannot tell him that I will be gone for nigh on a year...// "Yes. I will be back soon, but you will have  
  
plenty to occupy yourself with." He smiled warmly and leaned over, leaving a final kiss on Faramir's smooth forehead.  
  
The horse behind him snorted, interrupting the moment he and Faramir were sharing. "I think that Wingfoot is getting impatient," Faramir said, regaining composure of himself. He was feeling better since it had sounded like Boromir wouldn't be gone for long; he did not notice the generous store of provisions that the soldiers carried.  
  
Boromir glanced at the horse and sighed. "Yes, she is." He took the reins and began to lead the mare out of the stables, with Faramir following a little ways behind, still clutching the stone amulet in his hand.  
  
Boromir's men had formed ranks at the gate, and now they waited for their captain to lead them off to whatever doom awaited them in the border lands. Faramir tailed Boromir, gaping at the tall, proud soldiers that his brother held command over. His heart swelled with admiration for him, but it didn't overcome the piercing sorrow filling his soul.  
  
Nimbly, Boromir mounted his steed and took his place before the soldiers. The enormous iron-bound doors creaked open, permitting a fine, dew-laden breeze to filter in up across the Pelennor from Anduin. In the dim light, Boromir looked years older than he was, sitting tall upon his horse with his face regal and proud, the Horn of Gondor hung around his neck after the fashion of every firstborn son in the House of Stewards.  
  
Faramir stood off to the side between two of the gatekeepers, shivering slightly in the cool wind. His eyes never left his brother, who looked back, his pale teal eyes saying a thousand 'I love you''s though his voice remained silent. The ranks begin to move forward through the gate, armor clinking and jostling against chain maille and as the horses bore their riders away down the white stone avenue that divided the Pelennor into two vast plains.  
  
Faramir moved out from his place between the gatekeepers and stood in the middle of the road once the entire company had passed. Far ahead of him, he could see Boromir turn and wave his hand in a gesture of final farewell before he disappeared over the crest of the ridge. The cumbersome gates begin to close, and the bright space between the doors narrowed until only a tiny slits of white light peeked through the jagged cracks in the tall beams barricading the city from the outside world.  
  
Faramir did not hear the footsteps and swishing of robes behind him as Denethor approached. It was not until his father spoke that Faramir was jerked back into the present, his mind snapped from the stream memories of languid afternoons spent with his brother and no one else.  
  
"You will not see him for a long time, Faramir," Denethor said. He voice was flat, bereft of all emotion despite the sadness tainting his youngest son's features and the departure of his favorite child. He did not see the object that belonged to his late wife clutched in Faramir's small hands.  
  
Faramir looked up at his father, his face the picture of confusion. "He said he would return, soon, father..."  
  
"Nay, Faramir. He won't be back for at least a year." His tone was cruel, mocking, and obscenely bemused. Denethor began to move back towards the inner recesses of the city. "Go back to your chambers," he commanded gruffly. "Though I daresay it would be your own fault should you catch a chill." Without saying another word, much less without another glance at his son, Denethor disappeared from sight, furs sweeping out behind him.  
  
Faramir felt his grief renewed, as well as a pang of betrayal permeating his heart. On swift feet he ran to the nearest battlement in hopes of seeing Boromir from a distance, even though he would be little more than a dot moving along the horizon.  
  
His keen eyes descried a tall man, armor glimmering as his steed reared before shifting into a breakneck gallop. The sound of the Horn of Gondor reached his ears, filling his heart with both thrill and despair. Recalling the gift Boromir had left him, Faramir held the star up and tracked it across the sky with his hand, following the path Boromir was making across the fields. "We're both always connected, rosebud, and that the stars you see in the White City are the same stars that I can see from the wilderness," he mouthed as Boromir's parting words reverberated in his mind.  
  
The horn blast died away, and all was silent but for the sounds of hushed and ragged sobs as Faramir wept on the battlement, alone once more. 


	8. Battered and Broken

Author's note: Here's a rather lengthy chapter to make up for the shortness of chapter six. Continuing with the flashback, this takes place a few months after chapter seven, and we finally find out exactly what Faramir has been holding back from Boromir.  
  
No sibcest in this one, just angst and a bit of violence.  
  
Reviews and constructive criticism are always, always welcome. Thank you to those who have left wonderful comments :-) Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Faramir hurried back from the library, weighed down with a heavy stack of books he had chosen to occupy himself with. With his head down, he hunched over the books to hide them, as though his father would suddenly bend the corner and see Faramir with the large editions of geographical maps, poetry, and epic stories. Since Boromir had left, the younger son had spent even more of his time in the grand library, passing his days there deeply absorbed in books. What he couldn't finish, he would sneak to his room that night.  
  
Denethor disapproved of Faramir's love of books, and often forbade him to read, forcing him instead to focus on archery and combat skills. Faramir was careful, now, not to be caught after one incident with his father in which several books were burned in the fireplace of his room.  
  
He quickened his pace, anxious to get back to his room so that he could finish the history of the First Age of Middle Earth, but stopped suddenly as he collided with something soft. The books tumbled to the ground, the pages crinkling from the impact. Faramir looked up to see what he collided with and paled immediately seeing that he was faced with several large, burly boys that had taunted him incessantly since Boromir's departure, and even before then.  
  
"Forgive me," he mumbled, stopping to the ground to collect the novels, "I did not see you."  
  
"Of course you didn't, you've always got your weaseling little face buried in books!" one of the bullies scoffed with a laugh. He and his two friends had backed Faramir up in a corner and were jabbing him in the ribs with their fat fingers while the leader taunted him mercilessly. "What are you reading about today, huh?"  
  
Faramir's breath began to come in short gasps as the towering bullies started to surround him, trapping him in a corner like a small, defenseless mouse. "I-I was reading about the First Age," he replied, trying to keep his voice from trembling. He shied away from their prodding fingers, but found that as soon as he backed away from one set, he encountered another on his other side.  
  
"Oh really?" the head boy jeered, whose name was Derufin. "Tell us about it, little lady!" His friends took that as the cue to grab Faramir's arms, stripping him of any defense he could have put up. Derufin stepped forward and glared at Faramir. "What's wrong, cat got your tongue?" he said with a sneer.  
  
Faramir struggled against the strong hold on his arms, though his slender frame could not match the strength of the two brutes holding him. Boromir had always told him that if he was in an adverse situation to never let his assailants see his fear, and he always kept whatever advice his brother gave him close to his heart. Fixing his chin in a facade of confidence, he glared at Derufin defiantly, though fear still mingled with the slight daring in his eyes. "I am not a lady! Let me go!"  
  
Derufin laughed, the sound grating and harsh on Faramir's ears. "Don't talk back to me!" And with that he swung his fist at Faramir's face, hitting him squarely in the jaw with a resounding crack. Derufin's cronies laughed similarly to the way their ringleader had, and began taunting Faramir relentlessly as Derufin watched the blood trickle down Faramir's chin from where his lip had torn on his teeth.  
  
Tears sprang to Faramir's eyes as pain radiated through his face. He could already feel his cheek beginning to swell from the force of impact of the blow to his jaw. He valiantly blinked them away, though, and with a burst of strength unexpected from both him and his aggressors, he yanked his left arm free of the hard grasp it was held in. Recalling combat training that he would have much rather forgotten, he swung at Derufin quickly, catching the larger boy in the nose. The soft bone broke with a sickening crack, and Faramir stared at reddened hand in disbelief, unable to conceive the idea that he had just committed violence.  
  
Derufin stumbled backwards a couple paces, cupping a hand under his nose as it dripped liquid rubies. "You'll wish you hadn't done that," he said in ominous, tremulous tones. His lackeys, outraged by Faramir's attempt at retaliation, immediately took action. Before Faramir could slip from their imprisonment they were on him, one holding down his wrists as he flailed and the other straddling him, delivering punch after punch. Derufin, still holding a hand up to his injured nose, let loose with a sharp kick into Faramir's ribs, eliciting a muffled cry of anguish from the steward's youngest son.  
  
"Can't defend yourself without that oafish brother of yours around, can you?" Derufin spat.  
  
Though pain ravaged his body from the repeated blows, Faramir did his best to remain silent, not wanting to give the toadies. The odd grunt would be forced out of his mouth after a particularly harsh kick to his side, or a violent blow to his abdomen. Soon red began to fill his vision from repeated blows to his face, and he blinked furiously, expelling blood that had dribbled down into his eyes. //Boromir!// his heart cried out, desperately wishing for his brother to come and save him, though he knew in his mind that his brother was too far away to help him.  
  
Another blow to Faramir's stomach caused him to gag and retch, spilling blood onto his tunic. He thrashed against the hold on him, still trying to get away, to defend himself, but his struggling became weaker as the onslaught continued. "Stop," he rasped shakily, no longer able to defend himself against the assailment.  
  
Derufin was poised to kick Faramir again, but the sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of armor ceased the trio's beating. "Guards," Derufin whispered acidly. "Let's get out of here -- let the soldiers find the princess!" With that, Derufin and his friends scrambled up from the ground and beat a hasty retreat back to their own stomping grounds, somewhere on the lower levels of the city.  
  
A tower guard rounded the corner and immediately gasped to see the crumpled form of a young boy lying in the corner. He swiftly came forward and knelt beside Faramir, taking the small, limp hand into his own strong one and uttering gentle words. "Young sir, can you hear me?" The guard did not recognize that it was Faramir; he was so bloodied and beaten.  
  
The soldier's two companions quickly came to him, one of them seeing that it was Denethor's youngest son who lay there, seemingly unconscious. "Girion!" he said urgently, "That is the Steward's son!"  
  
Girion tentatively raised Faramir from the ground, taking the boy into his arms. "Go tell the Steward," he ordered, worry coloring his voice. They swiftly moved off to the throne room. Girion remained there for a moment, rubbing the blood from Faramir's porcelain white cheeks with his fingers. "My lord Faramir, can you hear me?" he asked, alarmed.  
  
A weak groan came from Faramir's lips, the only indication of the jarring pain that shot through his body as he was lifted. Blood trickled from his lips and onto the shining armor of the guard leaving a rust-colored tarnish on the gleaming metal. His lips moved as he tried to say something, but no more than a rasp of breath escaped his body. A tear slipped from his eye, cutting a path through the dried, brick-red stains on his ashen cheeks. His eyes slowly rolled back into his head behind half-closed lids, giving the guard an eerie impression of one in his death throes.  
  
Wasting no time, Girion ushered Faramir up to the houses of healing. People gasped to see the bloodied figure being borne past them as Girion rushed through the labyrinthine pathways. Finally, feeling slightly winded, Girion arrived and burst in, crying "Quickly! The steward's son is in need of attention!" Barely a second after Girion's command left his mouth two nurses came forward and led him to a small room where a white-sheeted mattress awaited Faramir.  
  
"Thank you, sir," one of the nurses said, not showing any dire concern in her words. "We will mend him." Girion hesitated in the doorframe for a moment, his heart going out to Faramir. The nurse cleared her throat and he bowed to her before silently turning and returning to his post.  
  
The other nurse had meanwhile removed Faramir's bloodstained tunic and was observing Faramir's wounds with graveness painted on her face. "He has several broken ribs," she whispered. "His lip is cut... who on earth would do this to a poor boy?" she asked, looking up at her fellow nurse with moist eyes.  
  
The other nurse knelt down on the other side of the bed and laid a small ivory white hand on Faramir's blood streaked forehead. "I do not know who would do such a thing," she murmured, now unafraid to show her concern and despair for the tiny broken figure that lay before her. "It is a pity that his brother is absent, otherwise he would see that no one ever laid a hand on him." Her hazel eyes were also rimmed with tears, but, remembering her duties, she reached for a damp cloth and wiped away the blood caked on Faramir's face and body. As she washed away the red stains from Faramir's jaw, she noticed a silken cord hanging around his neck. Her hand shaking slightly, she lifted it to look upon a cracked marble amulet, shaped like a star. Three of the points were chipped off.  
  
Faramir barely clung to consciousness, though it was a great feat to do so because of the severity of his injuries. But he was beyond pain; his battered body afforded him at least that comfort. He watched the two nurses work to dress his wounds and cleanse the blood from his body, the images that permeated his dulled mind disjointed, blurry. //Boromir,// he thought to himself over and again, //Boromir...Boromir...//  
  
"Boromir," he managed to wheeze, the word audible, but only just. His head fell to one side as he finally lost his fight against unconsciousness.  
  
***  
  
Throughout the next several days, Faramir drifted in and out of wakefulness as he slowly recovered from his brutal assault. Even when he was awake, however, he was not fully cognizant; instead his mind was slowed, mired down by the extent of his injuries and his body's need to recover. It wasn't until the sixth day that he had been in the houses of healing, that he was fully aware of his surroundings. As he finally rose from his near- comatose state, his eyes looked around the spacious room where he had been treated, taking in his surroundings.  
  
And was quickly faced with his father. Glowering down at him, Denethor's face showed no relief at his son's recovery, nor worry over his still ailing condition. His lip trembled, jerking itself into a displeased, disdainful sneer. Faramir swallowed hard and forced himself to sit up the bed as best as he could, though pain radiated from his sides from his broken ribs. "Father..."  
  
"I see you are awake, Faramir," Denethor said imperiously as he glared down at Faramir's thin form. "It's about time."  
  
Faramir nodded and then winced at the effort of even the slightest move of his body. "Yes, I am awake," he said, on his guard. Denethor's moods had always been unpredictable when it came to dealing with him, and he never knew exactly what to expect from his father.  
  
Denethor sat on the stool next to Faramir's bed but did not make any gesture of comfort for his aching son. "Why did you not defend yourself like you've been taught?" he inquired caustically.  
  
Eyes widening, the memory of his assault slowly came back to Faramir; how he was outnumbered, how his assailants were so much bigger than him, how he couldn't fight against all three of them. "But, father, I did defend myself! I was out--"  
  
"I have invested hours upon hours in your training, Faramir, I do not wish to see it go to waste!" he boomed.  
  
"But, father!" he started to explain again, "I recalled my training! I tried to defend myself, but I was outnumbered! They took me by surprise and- -"  
  
"And you let them humiliate me with your weakness!"  
  
"That was not my intent, father. I did the best that I could." Faramir kept his eyes lowered, afraid to raise his gaze to Denethor's in defiance. "I apologize if I have brought humiliation on you."  
  
"Not only do you chagrin me, but you degrade our entire bloodline with your mistakes. You are of the house of Stewards, Faramir, and I will not have a son that prefers to bury himself in books when he should be learning the skills to bring glory to his name!" His voice lowered to a scathing whisper. "Though I daresay, any glory you could bring me would pale in comparison to your brother's quality."  
  
Faramir's cheeks flushed scarlet as his father's tirade lashed into him deeper than the thickest whip in the armory. Even in his own heart he knew that he would never live up to the greatness of his older brother, though he always tried his best to please the biased Denethor. "I do my best, father," he muttered.  
  
"Your best," Denethor scoffed, laughing grimly. "You know nothing of the word."  
  
Faramir blinked back tears, willing himself not to cry in his father's presence, knowing that it would only increase the disappointment and scathing remarks flung at him. "I will do better in the future then. I only wish to please you, father."  
  
Denethor was standing now, back turned to Faramir. He spoke without looking at his son, saying "You wish to please me, you say?" Slowly he turned, eyes ablaze with a sinister light. "Then I have a task to give to you."  
  
Faramir blanched at his father's harsh gaze, afraid of what was happening behind the pair of cold eyes. "What is it that you ask of me?" he asked bravely. //If this is the one chance I have to prove myself to him//, Faramir thought to himself desperately, //then I will do it. No matter what it is.//  
  
"I'm sending you out on your own, Faramir. In the wild. You will be alone, and have to fend for yourself. Your brother went through it and survived, I feel it is only just that you do the same." His voice was icy cold, yet a fiery light was kindled in his dark eyes as he tried to gauge Faramir's reaction.  
  
Faramir stared at the blanket covering his legs for a long while. On my own... He would never be able to survive by himself. Boromir was everything that he was not: valiant, courageous, brave, a warrior was etched into his very being. Faramir was the exactly opposite: bookish, quiet, gentle; the very thought of violence made his body quiver in disgust. He had no desire to fight, to learn how to be a great captain of Gondor; all he wanted to do was stay in the city, absorbed in his poetry and literature. But his father was right, what glory was there in that? What esteem would it bring to the strong bloodline that flowed from his forefathers?  
  
"I will go."  
  
Denethor smiled, if the expression could even be considered such, and turned wordlessly from Faramir as he departed, robes trailing behind him. "He won't last one night," he mused grimly as a sardonic glint played in his eyes.  
  
***  
  
The sun slowly sank behind the darkened mountains to the east as the day slowly came to a close, the evening chill slowly spreading through the woods of Ithilien. The underbrush shook as small creatures sallied to and fro in their last search for food as the light failed. As the moon took the sun's place in the sky, its ghostly light reflected off of the stone remnants of buildings and the leaves of the trees, giving the woods an ethereal glow.  
  
Faramir was huddled underneath of his threadbare blanket in a small clearing in the dense forest, which was no more than ten feet across. He had built a small pyramid of stray twigs and dried grass, and had spent the better part of a half hour trying to set a spark to the kindling. His hands trembling with cold, he continued to strike two rocks together in a vain attempt to create enough friction to create a fire. After a few more moments with no results, he threw the stones to the side, frustrated. He pulled his blanket around himself tighter and shivered, the cool evening air permeating the thin fabric.  
  
As he had for several nights before, he berated himself for being so unable to take care of himself in the wild when his brother was so capable at the same age. It had been easy enough for him to find food with his sharp archery skills that were far advanced for his years. It was at night that he had the most trouble; as soon as the sun set behind the Mindolluin. For the past several nights, much like this one, he had been able to start a fire to keep warm, and instead he shivered well into the night with only his traveling cloak and thin blanket to keep him warm. He could already feel himself coming down with a chill, however his attention was not caught by his own health and well being, but the thought of his father when he found out that Faramir had failed at even the simplest task a man of Gondor should be capable of.  
  
This thoughts turned back to Boromir, and how easily he would have made it through this excursion. And how he *did* make it through, with flying colors according to their father. Though the longing for his brother had always been constant since he had left Minas Tirith, Faramir felt a sudden pang of yearning for Boromir. Though he berated himself for being so dependent on his brother, Faramir knew that he would not be in such a predicament if his brother had ventured out with him.  
  
He stood abruptly. Whether it was from the haze that lingered around his mind, or the desire to go and prove his skills as a budding ranger to his Father, Faramir decided to set out on his own to find Boromir. He knew that his brother had been sent away to patrol the borders of Gondor with his own small, but puissant, company, and doubtless they would spend more time along the Mountains of Shadow, investigating the lingering evil that seemed to radiate from the malevolent land to the east of Gondor.  
  
"Ithilien must not be so terribly far from where Boromir is," he said to himself, standing purposefully. With several kicks of his heavy boot, he scattered the twigs and kindling before gathering his meager amount of belongings. It seemed perfectly rational in his mind; he would find his brother and return to the city with his father thinking that he had done well. He would have both his brother near him again and his father's approval.  
  
He set off through the woods, following his instincts at first to lead him towards Boromir's company. He soon found that his inclination easily led him on the right track when he found the heavy tracks of soldiers moving off towards the south. Dropping to one knee, he inspected a track carefully, sifting the dirt and analyzing exactly when it had been made. //Not four days ago//, he said to himself, cataloguing the information into his memory. For the first time since Boromir had left, a glimmer of excitement slowly built up inside of him. //I will get to see Boromir!// his heart sang, longing to confess to his brother every hardship he had endured since his departure.  
  
Faramir's mind thought of nothing but his brother as he followed the tracks tirelessly for nearly five days, not stopping to rest or find food for fear that he may lose the tracks he followed carefully. For the first few days of his trek, he stubbornly ignored the growing pain that built in his overtaxed body, still suffering from the severe wounds that he had received only a few weeks prior. Denethor had sent him out well before he was fit, but Faramir went dutifully, not wanting to give his father another chance to point out his numerous weaknesses.  
  
It wasn't until the fifth day of his face-paced expedition that he finally collapsed, exhausted from lack of nourishment and the still-battered state of his body. His body hit the ground with a hard thud, and he was inundated with wave after wave of dizziness. Groaning, he tried to pull himself off of the ground, but slid back down to the cold-hardened earth before he had hardly managed to get to his knees.  
  
Too exhausted to try to move, Faramir simply laid where he had fallen for what seemed like an eternity. He lost track of how many hours or days had passed; he was only aware of the throbbing of his body and the fog that seemed to wrap itself around his head. He knew that at some point it rained, great sheets of water that bore down on him, drenching him through to the bone. The fine silk cord that he wore around his neck was worn down by the rain, slowly disintegrating as the tempest continued, wearing down the delicate fabric until it was no more than a few strings. The broken star amulet of his mother's fell to the ground, forgotten.  
  
Faramir shivered and trembled as a lingering chill seeped through to his bones. More time passed, though he was not sure if had been only minutes, or an entire week. A fever ravaged its way through his rapidly thinning frame, whatever weight he had managed to put onto his spindly body quickly melting away as sickness ate its way through his weakened form. His last thought before the world went black was of how he was a failure not to just his father, but to Boromir as well.  
  
***  
  
Denethor paced the great hall of kings furiously, his boots clicking on the white marble floor the only sound that echoed through the grand assembly room. Courtiers stood at attention, waiting for their lord to speak, waiting to carry out any order the Steward gave to them. They watched on, their eyes wide as Denethor's countenance grew darker and darker, as his hunched posture grew tighter with anger with each tour of the room he made.  
  
"Has there been no word from the gates?" he asked abruptly, spinning around and fixing his beady glare on the four courtiers. "He has not yet returned? There is no sign of him?"  
  
"None, my lord. We have had a watch set up for the last several days awaiting the young lord Faramir's return, but none have seen him."  
  
Denethor began to traverse the large hall again, the tempo of his pace increased in agitation. "He was due back a week and a half ago! No word from him, no sight of him. He has probably gotten himself lost in the wild! What have I done to deserve such a failure?" Denethor fumed to himself, forgetting momentarily the presence of his aides. "He cannot even survive in the wild on his own for a short amount of time! I will not tolerate such deficiency!" He whirled around, his eyes blazing with anger. "Send out a dispatch! Have that child brought back to the city as quickly as possible."  
  
The four aides bowed respectfully and left to fulfill Denethor's mandate. As soon as they left, he threw himself into the sub-throne of the Steward, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration. "Clearly there is nothing that can be done to better him," he muttered to himself. "He will never be as good as my first. My *only*," he corrected.  
  
***  
  
Five men garbed in brown and forest green raiment were scarcely visible as they each threaded their way through the thick trees in Ithilien. They had been on Faramir's zigzagged trail for nearly two days, and they all felt that they were getting closer to their goal. The dispatch orders had reached them in the morning two days ago; the steward's youngest son had gone missing and was to be fetched and brought back at once. One of the men, the one furthest ahead descried up ahead an abandoned cloak, stained with dirt and dust, crumpled into a heap in the middle of the path. As he gradually moved forward, crouched on the ground, he sharpened his hearing so that his mind was focused on every snapping twig or rustle of leaves. It seemed for a moment that he could actually hear the trees' respiration, but his concentration was suddenly shattered by a small coughing noise off to his right. With slow precision, he moved in the direction of the cough which had now turned to shallow wheezing. Right below him at the foot of the hill, curled up into a small ball, was an ashen-faced boy of no more than fourteen struggling to stay alive.  
  
The ranger slid down the hill without raising any sound until he was just a few feet away from the quaking form. He flicked his hazelnut eyes back and forth, making sure that his companions knew of his position and were prepared to come to his aide, should the situation warrant. Making eye contact with each of the other men, the ranger dared to speak in his most non-threatening voice, saying "My lord Faramir?"  
  
A slight groan was the only indication the prone form gave to show that he heard the ranger speak his name. Faramir's eyelids were halfway closed, his eyes rolled back into his head so that only the whites were displayed in a ghost-like fashion.  
  
Branches rustled and bracken crunched as the four other rangers broke out from their hiding places and came up to circle their companion and Faramir. One of them nodded urgently, claiming, "That is indeed the young master Faramir, he looks uncannily similar to his brother, whom I have known since childhood!" Another leaned down next to Faramir's limp form, running a hand over the cracked lips and clammy cheeks.  
  
"We must get him to safety; had we been much later he would not be living," he said pointedly. "Get him up, quickly!"  
  
Promptly, Faramir was lifted up and borne away under the sun-dappled trees, flashes of bright sunshine nearly blinding him through his lidded eyes and causing sharp spikes of pain to radiate through his forehead. Though in great need of expedience, the rangers still managed to pass through the woods noiselessly until they came to their stronghold at Henneth Annun. Moving like shadows with deadly silence, the band disappeared past the curtain of falling water and down into the caves where the air was heavy and humid.  
  
"You're safe now," a voice whispered to Faramir as he was taken by another set of arms and placed on a crisp, clean cot. For a flashing moment the voice sounded like Boromir's, but it was in fact a man of with much greater years which he had used to refine his skill as a healer and ranger speaking. The ranger gently removed all but Faramir's mud-stained leggings, careful not to disturb the ailing boy. He wondered how long he had been lost out in the wild; Faramir's ribs clearly showed through his pallid skin. It was apparent that the boy had been starving for a long while. He picked up a stick-thin wrist to check for a pulse, expelling a slight sigh in relief when he found one, though it was thready and weak.  
  
With all the care as if he were mending a baby bird's broken wing, the healer tended to Faramir's wounds, though many of them look like they pre- dated the young boy's expedition. Brow knitted but mind not questioning, Faramir's caretaker worked his magic as the youngest son of Denethor fell into a sleep marked by a string of terrifying nightmares. 


	9. Snow Angels

Author's note: Thank you to all who have read this far, and I hope that chapter 9 won't disappoint you! We decided to go for a bit of a lighter setting since the previous few chapters were so grim, so we've jumped ahead a few months to winter in Gondor. Boromir and Faramir have fun in the snow, snowballs and all of that good stuff.  
  
If sibcest squicks you, DON'T READ ANY FURTHER. Flames are not welcome and not appreciated. We do, however, absolutely adore nice comments and constructive criticism. They help us make the story better for you so that you enjoy more what we read!  
  
Please drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It seemed as though winter in Gondor had been especially designed for the white city of Minas Tirith. Frost covered the vast planes of Pelennor and clung to the eaves and gables of the city like sparkling jewels of the finest cut. In order to stay the chill that would linger in the stone- walled rooms and drafty halls, the Steward would often throw parties with roaring fires and enough mead for all that would last long into the night. Unlike the northern realms of the elves, winter seemed to be the time for lovers in the kingdom of men; a stolen kiss under the snow between two young paramours, or a promenade through the garden to look at the icy lace fringing the flowers that somehow managed to survive the harsh weather were always much welcomed by its citizens.  
  
It was Boromir's favorite time of the year, and it brought a small smile to face to see the last months of summer die away into the brief autumn until finally yielding to wintertime in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The townsfolk had been gossiping about an impending snowfall, and sure enough, the sun rose to a field of white where the Pelennor were once lush and green.  
  
He had risen early, which as a rare occurrence for him when he was not away on an expedition, and stepped out onto the battlement near his bedchamber while still wearing his nightclothes and a sumptuous pelt. He breathed deeply, inhaling the chill in the air which invigorated the senses and immediately jarred one awake, making them feel thankful to be alive and able to see such an indescribably beautiful winter dawn.  
  
Finally, the coldness of the stone floor penetrated his toes and he had to go back inside to warm up. As he dressed himself in front of the still- burning fire that lay in the shallow hearth on one wall of his room, an idea came to him. Swiftly, he donned his warmest leggings and several shirts, along with a pair of newly cobbled boots and a fur-lined cloak. Ruffling his hair with his hand, he sallied forth and quickly went to the nearest storehouse.  
  
Boromir did his best to balance the tray of food in one hand while using the other to jimmy open the door to Faramir's room. After several moments of exasperated curses, the door creaked open and he slipped in past the entrance, shutting the door behind him. The room was still dark, and smoke hung up around the rafters from the dying embers of a fire in the corner. Faramir was no more than a small lump under the heavy blankets, snoring quietly. With at little noise as possible, Boromir traversed the room to where his brother was sleeping and whispered, "Wake up, little one..."  
  
Faramir groaned lightly and shifted under the thick blankets, swatting at the whispering in his ear. He mumbled something incoherent and buried his face in the thin pillow. Grinning impishly, Boromir carefully set the food- laden tray and crouched next to the bed. "It's time to wake up, rosebud," he whispered in Faramir's ear one more time before abruptly ripping the sheets off of the bed.  
  
Faramir automatically curled up into a small ball, pulling his knees up to his chest in an attempt to stay the draft in the room. Groping blindly, he reached for the blankets. After several minutes of searching, he was finally roused from his deep sleep, his eyes opening and looking around the room blearily to see where his blankets had gone. A smile slowly spread across his face when his gaze fell on Boromir and his coltish grin. "Good morning," he said, his voice hoarse from sleep.  
  
Boromir grinned in return, his smile lighting up his entire face. "Good morning. I brought you something." He reached for the tray of food that he had placed next to him on the floor. It contained several slices of fluffy white bread, fresh out of the oven, along with a dollop of butter and some warm milk. He had even gone so far as to search for the last of the dried raspberries from the harvest earlier in the year - he knew Faramir loved raspberries. //I hope he likes this...// he thought.  
  
Boromir lifted the plate of food and rose along with it before settling down on the edge of Faramir's mattress. Almost timidly, he offered the food to his brother as a look expectancy for praise sparkled in his turquoise eyes.  
  
Faramir sat himself up in the bed, looking down at the breakfast curiously.  
"What is all of this, Boromir?" he asked, sniffling. He rubbed his red- tipped nose with the back of his bony hand and blinked several times, wondering if the plate of food in front of him was a mirage. "Did you bring me breakfast?"  
  
Boromir nodded enthusiastically and stated in a proud voice "Yes! I got up early so that I could bring it to you in bed, so that you wouldn't have to freeze to death!" He pushed the tray further to Faramir's folded legs. To Faramir, his big brother seemed like a little boy eager to please as he beamed at him. "I wouldn't want to have an icicle for a brother," Boromir added with a wink.  
  
Faramir gave Boromir one of his sunny smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Bringing one hand to Boromir's cheeks, he pulled his brother closer by just the touch of his fingertips. Bringing his lips forward, Faramir kissed Boromir sweetly, shutting out everything but the feel of his brother's lips for just one minute. Satisfied, he pulled away, and said, "Thank you. You didn't have to go through so much--Are those raspberries!?" His eyes lit up at the sight of his favorite fruit, and he picked one up excitedly. "I thought there were no more left!"  
  
Boromir felt a familiar warmth pooling inside of him from the kiss, and if at all possible, his smile broadened. "Yes! Those are indeed raspberries!" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if one of the store keepers was around eavesdropping. "I searched everywhere for them, and I decided to bring you the very last of the harvest." It was all Boromir could do to keep his elation bottled up; seeing his brother's face brighten at the proffering of food was enough to make him want to sing and jump from rooftop to rooftop. "Eat, eat!" he urged good-naturedly.  
  
Faramir popped the small red fruit in his mouth, his lips curling upward as he enjoyed the sweet but tangy taste of the raspberry. "It's delicious!" he declared. He picked another raspberry up from the plate and held it out to Boromir. "Would you like one?"  
  
Boromir raised his hands in polite refusal. "Nay, but thank you. Their flavor makes my face pucker up and my nose twitch," he said as his cheeks colored slightly out of embarrassment. "Go on and indulge." He chose to rest his hand on Faramir's knee as the two faced each other in the middle of the mattress, tapping his fingers to a mental beat. //He's eating, I can't believe it//. Boromir inwardly congratulated himself on his success, convinced that he was, by far, the best brother anyone could have. Faramir continued to scarf down the fruit, relishing every last drop of juice still present in the berries. He looked so innocent, so childlike, with his pink- tipped nose and rosy cheeks and mussed chestnut hair. Boromir wanted to kiss him, as the heat culling in the pit of his stomach was not going away, but he settled for watching Faramir with fond eyes.  
  
Faramir licked his fingers clean, satisfied by the refreshing fruit that he had eaten. "What a wonderful way to wake up," he effervesced. Ignoring the bread and butter, he set the plate aside and crawled closer to Boromir, catching him again in a raspberry-flavored kiss. "Is there anything else to this breakfast other than the fruit?"  
  
Boromir licked his lips and his tongue tingled with the flavor of raspberries there. "There's bread," he said before kissing Faramir in return, full on the lips. "And butter to go with it." Another kiss, but this time Boromir's tongue slithered out and raked over Faramir's teeth as his brought a hand around to cradle the back of Faramir's head. "You don't want any?" he asked, voice growing ever more hoarse as his leggings became tighter.  
  
"I'm completely full," he murmured, laying back on the bed and pulling Boromir on top of him. "I'm ready for dessert," he purred. Closing the remaining distance between him and Boromir, he kissed him again, pushing his tongue into the warm mouth. Stroking Boromir's tongue with his own, Faramir moaned lightly into Boromir's mouth.  
  
"Dessert..." was all Boromir could say as his body was quickly taking over control of his actions. With deft fingers he undid the lacings around the collar of his outer shirt before leaning back down to suck Faramir's tongue into his mouth and take in the tangy sweet taste of the fruit still lingering in his brother's mouth. A slight upward push from Faramir's hips sent shivers coursing through Boromir's taut body, and his shuddered at the contact which caused him to deepen the kiss. A moan into his mouth from Faramir caused their tongues to vibrate against each other. Resistance all but disintegrated, Boromir boldly began to drag his lips downward to the sensitive skin of Faramir's neck and chest.  
  
Giving a shuddering sigh, Faramir's head fell to the side to further expose his neck to Boromir. His back arched slightly off of the bed as Boromir's lips brushed against a sensitive spot on his prominent collarbone. His eyes flew open in excitement as he started to drag his tongue slowly past the loose neckline of his dressing gown; he glanced out the window, his eyes clouded with desire, but still taking in the white snow that silently fell. And then his boyish nature took over. "Boromir!" he cried, sliding out from under him quickly. He leapt out of the bed, tripping over his oversized nightclothes in his haste to get to the window. "Snow! Look!" He looked out in glee at the fresh blanket of snow that had covered the white tiers of Minas Tirith.  
  
Boromir nearly cried aloud as he was left sprawled in the middle of the bed, groping about for Faramir's body but coming up with nothing but a corner of a blanket in his hands. His body twitching and unsated, he reluctantly turned on his side and tried to look as alluring as possible in hopes that Faramir would come back. "Yes, it is. First snow of the season... Aren't you cold?" Boromir asked, lazily tracing circles on the mattress with the tip of his forefinger. He raked his gaze over Faramir's slender form outlined in the early morning sunshine showing through the folds of fabric hanging off of his body. "Come back..." he said, wheedling.  
  
"There must have been six inches at least that fell last night! Faramir whirled around to face Boromir, his eyes alight with a childlike glee. "Can we go out and play in it?" He rushed over to his chest oak chest, threw open the lid, and started tossing clothing across the room, looking for his warmest outfit. Hopping around, he tugged two pairs of leggings, then tossed off his nightgown, ignoring the cold that permeated the room despite the roaring fire. "Will you come?" he asked excitedly.  
  
//Will I come? No, not this time,// Boromir thought bitterly. But, quelling the unsatisfied yearnings wracking his body, he slowly sat up and tied his collar again before smoothing down the hair that had become messy. He yawned hugely, feigning great disinclination to go and traipse through the snow, and said "'Course I'll come, Faramir. That's why I came to wake you..."  
  
"Good! It must be deliciously cold out there!" He pulled on several heavy shirts, then one of Boromir's old tunics. After cinching a belt around his layers of clothing, Faramir yanked on his heavy boots. Bounding over to Boromir, he gave him a quick kiss before scurrying out of the room. He came back not three seconds later though, snatched up his brown cloak, and then disappeared again, calling, "I'll meet you outside!"  
  
Boromir stood up, stretching his limbs and shaking the lust that blurred his senses. Suddenly, unbidden thoughts of the woman from his homecoming feast flooded his memory -- Lindorie, was it? -- and he shuddered all the way down to the tips of his toes. Faramir's laughter from outside hurled him back into reality, though, and he followed his brother out the door with his weatherworn but warm cloak wrapped around his shoulders. A smile came to his face again and the falling snowflakes gathered in white clumps on his head and whiskers.  
  
He found Faramir just outside the gates of the city, cavorting in the soft snow as though he were five years old again. His hood had fallen back off of his head from the stiff wind that blew through the fields of Pelennor. His face lit up when he saw Boromir, and he picked up a large clump of snow, tossing it up into the air and spinning around as he fell back down to him, coating his body in white.  
  
Moved by Faramir's boyishness and feeling the part of him still clung to by childhood, Boromir scooped up a large handful of the fresh snow and balled it up into a particularly fierce-looking snowball. While Faramir's back was turned, he wound up his arm to throw, releasing the clump of powder from his grip and sending it hurtling into the back of Faramir's head where it broke to white smithereens. "Got you!" Boromir cackled triumphantly before dashing off as quickly as possible before Faramir could retaliate. He gathered up another lump of snow and prepared to totally annihilate Faramir with the most epic snowball attack Minas Tirith had ever seen.  
  
Faramir, meanwhile, had the same exact plan for Boromir. He quickly made two sizeable snowballs and took off in the snow after. His light, lithe form made it easy for him to bound through the white blanket that covered the ground, and he soon overtook his brother. Darting up to him, Faramir took the opportunity as Boromir was distracted by the artillery of snow he was forming, and he let out a loud "HA!" Boromir lifted his head, surprised, and Faramir took the opportunity to heave the snowball straight into Boromir's face, causing the older man to splutter and fall backward. Laughing merrily, Faramir sprinted away again before Boromir could recover himself.  
  
"You'll regret that, Faramir!" Boromir boomed with a laugh. Shaking the snow out of his eyes he dug himself out of the snowy trench his weight had formed around him. His cloak was getting wet from the snow melting on it, and it slowed him down as he chased Faramir down, a hefty snowball in each hand. Faramir leapt around like a will o' the wisp and was laughing so gleefully that he did not see the two massive clumps of snow as they careened towards him, one hitting his chest and the other square on his head. Before he could react, Boromir was on him, pushing him down in the drift of snow as he fingers jabbed him in the ribs.  
  
Faramir let out a loud yelp as he fell backward into the soft pillow of snow, holding his arm out at the last minute to keep from crushing his well- sculpted snowball. "Stop, Boromir!" he laughed, thrashing about as Boromir's fingers tickled his sides, tormenting him. His feet sent snow flying into the air as he kicked in an attempt to remove himself from under Boromir. In a last effort to stop the tickling, he took his remaining snowball and jammed it down Boromir's heavy shirt.  
  
Boromir reeled backwards and clawed at his shirt where the snow was rapidly melting against his warm chest, flowing in torrents down to the waist of his leggings and chilling him through and through. He frowned stormily and shot Faramir a caustic look, saying "That was a dirty trick, Faramir." He wrapped his dampened cloak around him and huddled up in the snow, pouting.  
  
Faramir remained lying in the snow, giving Boromir a look of wide-eyed innocence, though he could hardly keep the dancing mirth out of his eyes. "What? It was self-defense! Aren't you always telling me, my dear brother, that I should defend myself more?"  
  
Boromir gave him a roguish grin, the kind that always made him look his most handsome. "Yes, you're right. Well done!" he said. Eyes sweeping over Faramir's trim form framed by white on all sides, Boromir felt himself warm up a little bit. "I'll forget about the ruthlessness of the attack if you come and give me a kiss." His lips curled into a coy smirk and his eyebrows raised slightly on the ends, making him look like the definitive picture of an overgrown child who just can't keep himself from pulling pranks and practical jokes despite his age.  
  
The corner of Faramir's mouth lifted at the warm smile his brother was giving him, completely missing the mischief written all over his face. He looked around at the bed of snow he was nestled in, feigned an attempt to stand, and gave up. "I'm afraid I'm stuck. You may have to come back down here." He felt his cloak and raiment becoming soaked and heavy with the melting snow, but it could matter less to him. After missing their playful snow antics last winter while Boromir was away, he would not give this chance up for anything in the world.  
  
Boromir crawled slowly over to Faramir, huffing and puffing the whole way. His garments were soaking and doing very little to keep the biting wind from nipping his wet skin like a thousand knives cutting into him. Finally, he got as close as a few inches from where Faramir lay and he stopped and let himself collapse in the snow. "I can't go much further..." A chill pang sliced through him as a gust up wind sprang up, sending shimmering flakes of snow up from the ground into wispy clouds. His teeth chattered and his cheeks were reddened, along with his nose, and he managed to inch a little bit further so that he was lying up against Faramir.  
  
"Oh, my poor Boromir!" he declared, wrapping his snow-heavy arms around his brother's body. "Are you cold? Shall I warm you?" Faramir kissed his brother's cheery-colored cheeks, then the reddened tip of his nose that mirrored his own. His own lips were blue with cold, and his back had started to go numb from the frigid snow that permeated his cloak, but still he ignored them, having all of the warmth he needed just by having Boromir in his arms.  
  
Teeth still clicking together as the cold dug deeper into his appendages, Boromir uttered thinly "Perhaps we ss-sshould gg-go back in, Ff-ff- aramirrr."  
  
"But the snow! You can't be cold yet!" he said, though a violent shiver ran through his body. "We still have more snowballs to throw!" He rubbed his nose against Boromir's in an attempt to warm his face. "Just a little bit longer?"  
  
Boromir grinned amiably and acquiesced, despite the fierce numbness pervading his fingers and toes, along with his nose. "All right.. just a little bit longer..." He left a chaste kiss on Faramir's red nose and plopped a fistful of snow onto his brother's head before pulling the hood down, covering Faramir's face down to his chin.  
  
Faramir burst into loud laughter. "What are you doing?" he asked, yanking at his hood that Boromir had firmly wrenched over his head. His face scrunched up under the garment, frozen immediately from the bitter cold of the white powder.  
  
"Giving you a taste of your own medicine! Bitter, isn't it?" Boromir chuckled good-naturedly. After Faramir tried unsuccessfully several times at wrenching his hood from Boromir's ironlike grasp, Boromir righted the garment and ruffled his hand through Faramir's hair, effectively ridding the sandy waves from the stray bits of snow there. Gently, as if he were dressing a small child, he secured the hood over Faramir's head and positioned the cowl so that it framed Faramir's face with warmth. "There," he stated proudly, "All better." A quick kiss on his lips swiftly removed the scowl that temporarily smeared across Faramir's features.  
  
"That wasn't fair!" he protested, "You're a great big brute of a bully!" Faramir's lips returned to a pout after Boromir's mouth disappeared, his face still stinging from the snow. He sniffled, his nose scrunching, giving Boromir the most pathetic look that he could manage. However, he caught Boromir's hand as he started to remove it and held it fast. Removing Boromir's heavy glove, Faramir pressed Boromir's hand to his cheek, closing his eyes momentarily. "I'm warmer now," he said softly.  
  
Boromir leaned forward, his breath forming misty clouds between them as the moisture in it condensed into water droplets. He kept his hand on Faramir's cheek and gently massaged the smooth skin with his fingertips, feeling a bit of warmth permeate his otherwise numbed frame. "Me too," he whispered.  
  
TBC... 


	10. Bittersweet Recollections

Author's note: I can hardly believe that we've made it to chapter ten! Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to comment; we really appreciate your thoughts, criticisms, and compliments! Please feel free to drop my co-author a line at jholsh1@towson.edu.  
  
As always, I give the sibcest warning. If you don't like it, don't read any farther. We don't like flames. They make us feel bad, and when we feel bad, we can't write. Sorrow.  
  
I hope that you all enjoy chapter ten as much as we enjoyed writing it!  
  
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Fast, nimble fingers flew over a leaf of parchment, manipulating a piece of charcoal and sketching on the paper with smooth, even strokes. With careful attention to detail, a shape soon became visible, the delicate face of a young woman. Though it was only a rough sketch, her high cheekbones were still prominent as was her delicate nose and full lips. The face of Finduilas shined from the yellowed parchment, though even in the beauty of the face, the visage still seemed ghostlike, as though the spirit of the young woman was watching from her grave.  
  
Satisfied with the drawing, Faramir set the parchment aside, taking care that it would not be blown away by the stiff winter wind. Even after Boromir's return, he sometimes felt the need to go off and be by himself, to clear his head and simply just sit and think without the harrassment of his father's advisors or combat trainers, or servants insisting that he eat. A small secluded terrace branching out from one of the wayward guest rooms had always been his favorite place to hide, though the cold air made it difficult to stay out for an extended period of time. For the past few days, the one image he had of his mother had been burned into his mind; instead of simply allowing it to linger and do nothing about it, Faramir chose to find his secret spot and sketch her face while remembering everything he could of the few years he knew the woman that had given birth to him.  
  
Pulling his oversized sleeves back over his stiff, freezing hands, Faramir retreated into the thick blankets that he had wrapped around himself, seeking warmth. Sniffling, he rubbed at his stuffy nose with the back of his sleeve then swiped at his watering eyes. Colds had always been a bother to him, especially this winter, but he was determined to not let a slight case of the sniffles keep him from enjoying his solitude. Though it was not quite noon, Faramir felt fatigue slowly settle over him, making his eyelids heavy and his body weary. He let his head fall to his shoulder, intending on taking only a short nap before going back inside, not quite ready to relinquish the quiet stillness of the pale winter morning.  
  
Snow had fallen again, coating the several inches that had already veiled the city and the surrounding lands with a fresh blanket of white. Boromir was delighted to find a new snowfall that morning, and he smiled broadly as he imagined the way the sunset would drench the Pelennor in icy orange tones, flecked here and there with brilliant splashes of gold and proud red. Boromir had opted to sleep for a few more hours, and it wasn't until the noon hour approached that he was out and about the city in search of a friend, or Faramir.  
  
He stuck his nose in Faramir's room and saw that he had evidently been long gone; his cloak was missing as well as his boots, along with a thick blanket from his bed. //I presume he's gone to be alone for awhile,// Boromir thought. He tarried around the door for a short while, debating whether or not he should seek out his little brother and possibly interrupt his reverie. //Better let him be for a bit,// he decided. Purposefully, he set off for the lower circles of the city where he would look for his friends his own age, and hopefully catch up with them, chatting just like they used to before Boromir had taken his long venture to the border lands.  
  
Boromir felt warm all over once he was safely inside the small pub tucked away in fourth circle of the city. Two guards of the Citadel were huddled around a small round table, each with a mug of warm mead, and the other tables were surrounded by tired, reddened faces of blacksmiths and furriers who were trying to avoid the chill for a short time before returning to their work. Boromir strode purposefully over to the two guards, smiling brightly. "Girion! Hirluin! How are you?" he boomed jovially as he pulled up a seat, joining his friends.  
  
"How considerate of you to join us, Boromir," Girion said with mock petulance, as a smile spread across his handsome face. "You've only been home for four months after a year long excursion." He shot Hirluin a bemused glance.  
  
Boromir shuffled his feet before sitting down. "You know that I must tend to family affairs, Girion." He clapped his friend stoutly on the shoulder. "Can you forgive me?" He jutted his lower lip out, eliciting a chuckle from Hirluin who generally remained reticent unless he had a skinful of alcohol in him.  
  
Girion took a long draught of his drink and then turned his eyes back to Boromir's face. "How is the family, Boromir?" he asked, sounding concerned. //Does he know about how his brother was beaten nearly to death? Or how the Steward sent him into the wilderness on his own?// Girion wondered.  
  
Boromir gave Girion a questioning look. "Lord Denethor and Faramir? They're fine... why wouldn't they be?" he asked in return, though in the back of his mind Faramir's retelling of the day he had gotten assaulted by those bullies after the archery contest was playing over and over again. He thought on the words anew, picking them apart in search for a hidden meaning or half-truth. He flicked his eyes over to Hirluin but saw nothing in his face but an impassive stare as he studied his reflection in his drink. Returning to face Girion, he asked, "Why do you ask that, Girion?"  
  
Girion shifted a little from side to side, clearly becoming uncomfortable with the edge Boromir's words had; he sounded alarmed, and that most certainly meant that he was ignorant to the hardships young Faramir had endured during his prolonged absence. "I was just curious, Boromir, I meant nothing more than what I said," he replied convincingly. Hirluin shot him an incredulous look but Boromir missed it, and ordered a mug of mead for himself.  
  
The three friends passed the better part of an hour conversing. Hirluin piped in occasionally with an exclamation of agreement or addition of an important detail Girion had omitted from his stories of how they had ransacked the wine cellars and didn't get caught or had managed to nail a washerwoman's skirts to the ground while she was asleep on the job. The trio laughed together just like in old times, and it seemed to onlookers that the city was finally back to normal with its Captain back, solidifying his friendships and bringing merriment back to them after a long year of trials and tribulations sans their most beloved leader.  
  
Girion and Hirluin downed the remaining contents of their mugs simultaneously, smacking their lips as the refreshment perked them up just in the nick of time. Girion rose, his hand resting affectionately on Boromir's shoulder and fingertips gently massaging the well-muscled upper arm and back. "Alas, dear friend, we must return to our posts, Hirluin and I."  
  
"Yes, get back to your duties, lazy louts," Boromir chuckled. His head was feeling light and airy as the several mugs of mead he'd imbibed warmed his heart with licks of heat that renewed themselves every time he took a draught. Girion's hand on his shoulder added to the hotness he felt; a hotness that he hadn't felt for anyone other than Faramir in his whole entire life. Girion... he thought, looking up at his friend's face fondly. //I missed you, too, while I was away...//  
  
"At your command, at your command!" Girion laughed, hands held up in a gesture of submission. "We must away. Please do come and find as again, Captain," he said jauntily, adding a sashay to his step as he and Hirluin filed out, Hirluin in front and Girion behind. He tossed an impish glance over his shoulder before stepping out into the windy winter air, and Boromir felt the pit of his stomach churn with desire at the memories of his first time with a man - with Girion.  
  
The pub became considerably less homely to Boromir without his friends there, and he quickly consumed the remainder of his mead before paying the shopkeep with several silver coins. He moved to the door and was immediately met with a brisk gust of wind that ruffled his hair and chased off any warmth garnered from the drink. Girion had gotten him to worrying on Faramir again, and it made his resolve resurface and urge him to go and prod his brother for answers to questions he had previously settled to leave unanswered. As he wound his way up back to where he thought he would have the best luck finding Faramir, his brain was inundated with a mixture of concern for Faramir and rekindled desire for Girion. His thoughts were interrupted, though, and a look of tender adoration highlighted his mouth and eyes when his gaze fell upon a small form huddled beneath blankets on the rampart with leaves of parchment tucked behind him.  
  
Keeping his step as light and quiet as possible, Boromir closed the distance between himself and the spot on the wall where Faramir was dozing. He bent forward and nestled his nose into Faramir's sandy waves, rustling them ever so slightly as he breathed. As softly as possible, he whispered "You'll catch a chill out here, rosebud," before leaving an airy kiss on the top of Faramir's ear.  
  
Faramir's eyes blinked open and slowly focused on Boromir as he awakened from his light doze, a fatigued smile promulgating itself on his face. He swiped at his reddened nose and sniffled again, shifting stiffly under his blanket. "I fell asleep?" he asked hoarsely.  
  
"You were snoring, so yes," Boromir replied amiably as he straightened up. "I'm sorry if I interrupted a dream..."  
  
"Seeing your face is much better than any dream I could have," Faramir said fondly, removing the blanket from around him and collecting his pieces of parchment with frozen fingers. He stood from the hard bench and stretched, his muscles stiff. "How did you--" he broke off and sneezed violently.  
  
Boromir wiped his nose with a gloved finger. "Thank you, but I've bathed. How did I what?" he asked as he watched Faramir scoop up the sketches and scribbles that lay strewn about his perch on the rampart.  
  
"I was going to ask how you found me here." Shivering as the cold permeated his clothing, Faramir pressed himself against Boromir, urging the older man to wrap his arms around him. "Not that I don't mind that you found my hiding place."  
  
Boromir gladly welcomed Faramir into his arms, and felt his brother's shivers recede as he gradually warmed up against his body. "How did I find you here? Oh, well... brothers just have a sense for that sort of thing." He smiled faintly as his thumb drummed gently on Faramir's head. "Come, I'm half-frozen. Let's go in."  
  
Faramir nodded and allowed Boromir to escort him inside, but not before he grabbed the pieces of parchment he had been drawing on. He couldn't help but chuckle as Boromir hustled him back to the comfortable warmth of his own room. Faramir settled on the floor next to the roaring fire in the stone hearth, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Boromir," he said abruptly, "What do you remember about our mother?"  
  
Boromir glanced backward, freezing in the midst of removing his large pelt. "Well, I remember many things about her... What is it that you want to know?" He sloughed off the heavy fur and laid it haphazardly on his mattress before moving over to Faramir and slowly sitting down next to him, keeping a fair distance from him.  
  
"Well...What was she like? I can't really remember her..." his voice trailed off as he looked down in thought, gleaning every possible memory he could of his lost mother. "She used to sing to me, and read to me; she had a gentle voice. But aside from that, I can only remember feelings. Did she love father very much? Did she like to have fun? Did she like to play out in the snow like you and I?" Faramir looked up at Boromir, his glossy eyes revealing an almost-desperation. "So many people tell me that I'm like her, but I have no memory to compare it to. Do you think that it's true?"  
  
Boromir smiled weakly. //He really is like mother. Fragile, delicate, but strong underneath. I can tell.// "I do think it's true, what they say." Faramir's teeth were still chattering from the chill clinging to his thin frame. Boromir grabbed a thick blanket, and, draping it about Faramir's quaking shoulders snugly, said with a soft chuckle, "She loved the snow. She was from further south where there wasn't much of it, and so when she saw it here she spent as much time as possible out enjoying it." Absently, he brought his hand up to the top of Faramir's back and lightly massaged the base of his neck with his fingertips.  
  
"Did father ever join her?" Faramir closed his eyes and attempted to picture a completely different side to his father, scowl replaced with a smile, laughter instead of criticism coming from his mouth. "Was she ever unhappy here?" He snuggled into the blanket and closer to Boromir's touch, thanking the heavens yet again for the wonderful brother he had.  
  
Boromir gazed into the flickering tongues of orange fire, trying to bring forward a visual memory of Finduilas. He sucked his teeth pensively before replying, and finally said "No... father never really joined her, that I can recall, but he would watch her, and us. And he would smile, sometimes. But she was unhappy, when she... " He paused, a pang of sorrow piercing his heart as he recalled the way Finduilas had fallen into despair and remained in bed, wilting and wasting away steadily. //She was so thin... just like you are, Faramir...//  
  
"When she..." Faramir prompted, wondering what had caused the sudden look of pain to cross Boromir's face.  
  
"Died," he managed to croak, struggling with the feelings the memories conjured up within in. He never stopped his soothing motions on Faramir's neck; in fact, he moved his hand to either of Faramir's shoulders as he tried to quell the grief he was feeling, both for their mother and for Faramir's unsaid plight. Boromir continued to stare blankly, his jaw set, into the dancing fire.  
  
Faramir's eyes widened as Boromir's distress became more and more apparent. Though his brother never cried to alleviate his sorrow, Faramir could tell that his brother suffered more than he let on from the onslaught of memories. He shifted so that he could wrap his arms around his brother, drawing him down so that his head rested against his chest. "Shhh," he soothed, rocking back and forth as he tried to comfort the older man. Faramir felt almost detatched from the situation. He had been young still when their mother died and had hardly any recollection of her. While he had been the son to spend more time with her, Boromir had become deeply attached to their mother as well in the ten years that he spent with her.  
  
Boromir gladly accepted Faramir's comfort, and despite his chagrin at showing his weakness so brazenly he felt oddly at ease and uninhibited with Faramir holding him. He inhaled fitfully, breathing in his brother's scent; he smelled of snow and wood smoke, making for a pleasant and relaxing aroma. Feeling a well of heat spring inside of him once again, Boromir suddenly jerked away from Faramir's hold and said weakly, "I'm sorry that I skulk so." He sniffled and exhaled loudly, clearing the mist from his eyes. "What else do you want to know about her?" he asked, turning his azure gaze back to Faramir's amber-stained face.  
  
Faramir's green-blue eyes darkened momentarily, a look crossing over his face that was akin to a puppy who had been rudely shoved away after being given a bit of affection. Still, he dared to reach his hand out to cup Boromir's stubbled cheek. "You've told me enough," he said softly, not wanting to upset his brother further.  
  
Boromir nodded slowly, easing into Faramir's smooth palm and brushing his lips across it. "I will tell you more of her another time, if you wish it," he said in broken, subdued tones despite the gleam of affection in his eyes as the fire played off their dark irises. He scooted nearer to Faramir so that their thighs touched and, like the child he still was deep down, he rested his head on Faramir's thin shoulder and partially closed his eyelids. "Faramir?"  
  
Closing his eyes, Faramir laid his head down so that it rested atop his brother's sandy-brown hair. With his free hand, he stroked Boromir's shoulder gently, reassuringly, trying to stay the sorrow that had been set into motion by the remembrance of their mother. "Yes, Boromir?" his soft voice asked.  
  
"Thank you," Boromir breathed as he settled snugly against his brother's warm, blanketed form.  
  
Faramir's brow furrowed, though he did not relinquish his hold on his brother. "Thank you for what?" he asked, puzzlement apparent in his question.  
  
Boromir smiled faintly. "For being tolerant of your loutish big brother and his babyish emotions," he replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. Absentmindedly, Boromir placed his hand on Faramir's knee and ran his thumb in circles around it as he spoke.  
  
Light shivers ran through Faramir's body, spreading from Boromir's light touch to the tips of his fingers and toes. "I am not being 'tolerant', nor are your emotions babyish." He ran his peaked hand through Boromir's tresses and massaged his scalp lightly. "If I am as much like our mother as everyone says, then never leave my side and feel her through me like a flower finds its heat from the sun's light." He bestowed a light kiss on the top of Boromir's head.  
  
Heart swelling, Boromir gently squeezed Faramir's knee and turned his head slightly to kiss his brother's bare neck. "I will not leave you, rosebud." //But you will, Boromir, sooner or later... It's inevitable...// Feeling a pang of guilt drive through his chest like a nail, Boromir quickly dismissed his last thought and simply took delight in the moment. Slowly he crumpled down into a ball on the floor, letting the heat radiating from the hearth warm him from head to toe. "Lay with me for a while, will you?" he asked Faramir in a soft voice.  
  
Faramir nodded obligingly, sprawling himself out on the floor next to Boromir. Reaching behind him to take Boromir's arm, Faramir wrapped it around his bantam waist, snuggling into his brother's warmth as he spooned him from behind. "I would lay with you like this forever if I could," he said quietly, lacing his fingers through Boromir's. The soporific effect of the crackling fire and Boromir's familiar scent surrounding him soon sent Faramir into a comfortable slumber.  
  
TBC... 


	11. Left Out in the Cold

Author's Note: Chapter 11! I can hardly believe how well this story is going. My co-author and I are very proud. This chapter takes a slightly different turn...We hope you all like it.  
  
Thank you so much to everyone who's read and left us reviews. They're invaluable and they give the motivation we need to keep writing!  
  
There is sibcest here! If you don't like it, don't read it! It's as simple as that, my friends.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"So... cold...." Girion muttered to himself as he shuffled down from the Citadel, briskly rubbing his gloved hands together. His breath crystallized into an ever-present icy cloud around his face as he rushed down a long staircase. At the base of the stairs, a small and slender figure darted across from one side to the other with long fur dragging behind it and sweeping aside a path in the few inches of snow still covering the well- traveled pathway. Girion hurried down and looked after the retreating person. "Faramir?" he called into the chill darkness.  
  
Startled, Faramir looked up only to have his face resolve into a smile as he caught sight of his friend. "Girion! What are you doing out here at such an hour?" His eyes flicked up to the opalescent moon well-risen in the sky, taking note of the late hour. He himself had been on his way down to Boromir's room, anxious to see his brother. Boromir's disposition had taken a turn downward after their discussion a few days prior, and he was beginning to worry about his older brother. Still, he always tried to make time to speak with his friend, no matter how rushed or harassed he was.  
  
Girion smiled warmly, seeming to brighten and heat the air surrounding the two men under the frigid winter moonlight. "I am returning from my watch for the night. But I should be the one asking questions!" he chided facetiously. "Where are you off too, hm? And in such a rush, too!" Girion chuckled and pinched Faramir's rosy cheek amiably.  
  
"To see Boromir, of course!" Faramir beamed, flashing Girion his dazzling smile. "Where else would I be going?" Girion was only person he had confided in about his relationship with Boromir; he was glad that he had such a wonderful confidant, someone that he could share everything with.  
  
Girion laughed, thoroughly delighted to see the young man in such a better emotional state than when Boromir was gone. He was sharply aware of the change in Faramir's youthful countenance that was streaked with blood and tears that one fateful day only a mere month after Boromir's departure. He remembered the sickly thin shell of a boy transported back from Henneth Annun after suffering the effects of exposure and near-starvation after the Steward had sent him off on a thoughtless venture, alone, into the wild and untamed reaches of shady Ithilien. //How beautifully he has improved and grown,// Girion thought as he studied Faramir's sleek cheekbones and upturned mouth and eyes that glimmered like multi-faceted blue-green gems. "Boromir, you say?" He chuckled knowingly as he recalled the intimate relationship he had with the city's captain. "Well, be sure to give him my regards." Girion patted the crown of Faramir's head and winked at him before gently shoving him away with a quick pat on the small of his back.  
  
"Wait!" Faramir said, resisting the shove stubbornly. "I've not had a chance to speak with you since Boromir returned! How have you been?" Spying a nearby bench, Faramir bounced over it, cleared off the thick layer of snow that rested on it, and took a seat. He slapped his gloved hand against the bench next to him, inviting Girion to take a seat.  
  
Girion sighed theatrically and slumped his tired shoulders. His body ached from hours of standing; he would've much preferred a more rigorous chore to pass the hours with, but that was not his decision to make. "Very well, keep me from a warm fire and mug of mead for awhile longer, I don't care!" he griped sarcastically as he joined Faramir on the bench. Their thighs touched, but Girion did not feel the tiny quiver in Faramir's leg as the two sat next to each other. Girion draped an arm around Faramir's shoulders casually, and asked as he gazed up at the twinkling stars, "How have you been, my lord?"  
  
"The cold is invigorating! I should hope that one of Gondor's greatest guards should be able to stand a little nip in the air!" Faramir teased. "And really, I wish you wouldn't call me that. You and I both know that I am no lord. Save that...term of respect for my father." He smiled up at the older man, feeling himself sliding closer to his warmth that radiated from him even though his body was plated with armor. Girion reminded him so much of Boromir that he sometimes had to keep himself from admiring the guard openly as he did Boromir. They were both so strong, brave, possessed an innate sense of command and power, something that Faramir had yet to manage.  
  
Girion spread his lips into a thin smile and looked down at the boy sitting so near to him with affectionate eyes. "As one of the Steward's son I am obligated to address you as such," he said evenly. Noticing the gleam in Faramir's eyes dim a little, he amended "But I must say, you are indeed a little rapscallion, nobility or not!" He poked Faramir's ribs playfully with a gloved finger. "Now answer me. How are you these days, Faramir?"  
  
Faramir slid away from Girion before he could be tickled, hating that both he and Boromir always took advantage of the weakness. "If I am supposed to be respected as the Steward's son, you'd best watch the way you treatment! I'm ready at the drop of a hat to report any abuse to my father!" He deftly avoided the question, though his eyes shadowed momentarily as the knowledge that his father would do nothing to help him floated through his head.  
  
Fine, fine," Girion conceded, shaking his head. He removed the helmet and shook his dark hair about before looking back at Faramir. His toned lowered to a note of dead seriousness, he questioned "Faramir, have you spoken to Boromir about that... day? And what happened in Ithilien?"  
  
Faramir looked down at his hands and fidgeted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. //No,// he thought to himself, //I do not want Boromir to know. He will no doubt feel horrible and blame himself somehow.// To Girion, he said, albeit a mumbled confession of lies, "Yes, I have."  
  
Girion relaxed greatly, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "Good. I am glad that he knows; he seemed to be murky on it when he visited Hirluin and I a few days ago while we were having a cup of mead during our reprieve." He patted Faramir gently on the back, right between the shoulder blades that jutted out starkly. "He cares for you so much, Faramir. You are lucky to have such a man as your brother." //Lucky indeed...// But Girion's ruminations on Boromir were interrupted by a sharp shiver that caused his teeth to chatter.  
  
Girion's marked shiver caught Faramir's attention, jerking him out of his reverie quickly. "I've kept you for too long, Girion! I had no idea that you would be so frozen through." Standing from the stone bench, he proffered a hand out to Girion. "You should go back to your quarters with your warm mead and roaring fire that I've kept you from."  
  
He laced his fingers through Faramir's long slender ones and hoisted himself up from the bench with a grunt. "Indeed, I think I'm frozen through. If I stumble on a stair and shatter then I'll blame you," Girion joked. Faramir's angelic smile did, however, warm him. Smiling sunnily in return, Girion said "Now run along. I don't want to catch hell from Boromir for keeping you sidetracked."  
  
Faramir felt a tingling spread from where his fingers were laced together with Girion's, and he looked down at the joined digits momentarily, wondering exactly why he was feeling the way he was. "Yes, you're right. I've been worried about Boromir lately...He has been so down lately. Beyond the normal brooding that he often indulges himself in."  
  
Girion cocked his head to the side, looking rather curious at the remark. "Is that so?" He trained his eyes over to the twin doors that opened up into Boromir's luxuriant room, the room he had been in before many times. The corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smirk as he recollected a certain chill night not two years past, a night not so different from this one. Swiftly shifting back into the present, he looked back at Faramir. "Do go on, then, and comfort him as you will. I hate to see him despairing."  
  
Faramir nodded and scurried off, but stopped before he had gotten more than a few yards away. Spinning on his heel, he bounded over and gave Girion a quick kiss on the cheek, something he always did whenever he said goodbye to the Gondor guard. Satisfied, he turned around again and quickly disappeared into Boromir's chambers.  
  
Girion pursed his lips and stood there in the bluish light of the moon, watching with fondness as Faramir traipsed off and slipped into Boromir's room with scarcely a sound. Turning and resuming his trek to the small hamlet where he lived alone on the fourth circle of the city, he thought //Sweet boy, just like his brother...// He shook his head ruefully and settled back into thoughts of the untouched mead he had stowed away in his home, and the several chopped logs resting in the fireplace. As he rounded the corner that brought him down to the level of the city where he resided, he promised himself to seek out Boromir the next day. They had much to discuss.  
  
Faramir eased into Boromir's room quietly in case his brother had decided to retire early. His eyes adjusting to the darkened room, his scanned the chamber, looking for Boromir. He wasn't near the fire, he wasn't in his bed. Figuring that he wasn't there, Faramir was about to leave when a moon bathed figure caught the corner of his vision. "Boromir..." he said softly, walking over to his Brother. He was propped up in a chaise next to the large window. He frowned as he saw how lost in thought his brother was, deeply absorbed in a book. "What are you reading, Boromir?" he asked, taking a few steps closer to him.  
  
Boromir didn't look up; he knew who it was the second he perceived footsteps crunching in the snow approaching his door. "It's one of our mother's favorite books," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the page. He settled down further into the chair, disappearing a little more in the blanket robing him. Furtively he wiped the moisture gathering in the corner of his eye, but still refused to make eye contact with his brother.  
  
Faramir's eyes widened as he heard the tears and sorrow apparent in Boromir's voice, though the older man tried hard to keep them from showing. "What book is it?" he asked, closing the remaining distance between them and perching on the edge of the chaise. He slipped an arm around Boromir's broad shoulders and pressed himself against him, offering comfort.  
  
For once Boromir felt little more than a half-dead flicker in him with Faramir's body brushing against him; only coldness pricking his nose and numbness spiraling through his chest held sway over him. With his thumb holding his place in the pages, he shut the book and showed the cover to Faramir in the candlelight. It was a narrative history of Dol Amroth, the land that Finduilas had come from. The edges were stained and warped, the pages yellowed and brittle, and in the corner of the cover a small rune for the letter 'F' marked who the original owner had been.  
  
Faramir smiled faintly as he regarded the cover. He knew the story well; it was a story that he read often. It worried him that Boromir was so silent and withdrawn, almost the complete opposite of his normal countenance. It was almost as though the roles were reversed, Boromir being the quiet, sullen son and Faramir doing the comforting. He gently removed the book from Boromir's hands and set it aside. "Come, Boromir, you should be getting to bed. Standing, Faramir took Boromir's chilled hands and coaxed him into standing.  
  
Boromir acquiesced, though for some reason he felt like snapping his hands away and sending Faramir away. But he decided against doing that, realizing that his brother was only doing what he could to cheer him, and went along with following the way Faramir guided him. He glanced longingly back at the book that lay ignored on the cold floor, wishing he could finish it in peace. Sitting down on the edge of his mattress, Boromir sighed with resignation, feeling the numbness in his chest dissipate just a little.  
  
Faramir fussed over his brother, removing his boots and outer tunic, settling him into his bed under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable. "Girion asked after you," he said, trying to make conversation to ease the tension in the room. He settled on Boromir's bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Boromir's middle. He looked up at his brother adoringly, though worry still crinkled the corners of his eyes; he wished that there was something he could do to draw Boromir out of the mild depression that he had settled into.  
  
//Girion.// "Did he now?" Boromir's eyes brightened a little at the mention of his friend. //Girion... hm.// "What did he say?" he asked, now sufficiently interested and distracted from his gloom. He shifted so that his lower body was against Faramir's, and his face was level with his brother's so that they looked each other in the eye, inches separating them.  
  
Faramir brow furrowed and he suddenly felt useless, cast aside. His presence had not been enough to cheer Boromir, but one mention of his friend immediately cheered his dismal mood. "Not much of anything, really," he said cautiously, "He said for me to give you his regards, and said that he hated to hear you were in such a state."  
  
Boromir nodded slowly as a grin spread across his features. "That's kind of him," he said, as if to himself. Noting Faramir's downcast countenance he turned his eyes back to his brother's face, saying "Faramir, I am sorry for my recent mood..."  
  
"There is no need to apologize," he replied quietly, feeling rejected. He could hardly ignore in Boromir's voice the underlying note of...desire? "I just hope that you are feeling better now." Still, Faramir placed a light kiss on Boromir's neck, sliding his body closer to him.  
  
Boromir made a growling noise low in his throat and, feeling significantly cheered with mention of Girion and Faramir's affection fresh in his mind, returned the gesture tenfold. He nipped at Faramir's neck, careful not to break the skin, and simultaneously brought his hands up to Faramir's chest and lightly squeezed the two nipples between his middle and forefingers. "I am feeling much better now," he whispered airily.  
  
A shuddering breath escaped Faramir's throat and his eyelids fluttered shut over his azure eyes. Boromir's hands made him forget for a moment his brother's reaction to the mention of Girion. The thought squeezed back into his mind as Boromir's ministrations slackened, but were immediately pushed out again as his large hands returned, running their way down his lithe body. Sliding so that he was half on top of Boromir, Faramir pressed his lips to Boromir's, slipping his tongue into his hot mouth.  
  
Boromir welcomed Faramir's tongue in earnest and sucked the slick muscle in between his teeth, not letting go for a second. His breathing became heavier as he took in air through his nostrils at a quicker rate, and his pulse escalated as Faramir's weight settled over him in all the right places. With his hands roaming with abandon over Faramir's body, he firmly pulled his brother up on top of him, thrusting his hips up a little the second Faramir was securely draped over the hot hardness centered in his groin and spiraling out to the tips of his limbs. He never broke contact with Faramir's mouth, though, keeping his brother's lips and tongue engaged in the steamiest of kisses while moaning between swipes of his own tongue over Faramir's.  
  
Faramir moaned breathily into Boromir's mouth, his hips shifting involuntarily to grind against Boromir's groin. His cheeks flushed as arousal stirred deep in his body, as the familiar stirring between his thighs. Faramir's hands threaded themselves through Boromir's locks of hair and his body writhed sinuously on top of his as his desire for Boromir grew intense with each passing moment.  
  
All rational thought was emptied from Boromir's brain. Letting his instincts kick in, his fingers rapidly untied the laces keeping Faramir's warm chest from his hands, and instantly he slipped a hand inside to run his broad palm over the smooth skin. He could feel Faramir's heartbeat pounding frantically within his ribcage, and the moans that flowed from Faramir's mouth were like an intoxicating brew of the greatest potency. Shutting his eyes and letting his hands fall down to the front of Faramir's breeches, he uttered "Faramir, you're so beautiful..."  
  
"No..." he said softly, his breath hitched and coming in short gasps. "It's you...You are amazing..." Faramir pressed a light kiss against the corner of Boromir's lips. As Boromir's hands slipped past his loosened breeches, he let out a sharp cry, his hips pressing themselves closer to the calloused touch. He froze, however, as Boromir's hands continued their quest and slowly started to slide his breeches off of his skinny body.  
  
Boromir's hands were steady and deft, and inch by agonizing inch more of Faramir's skin was revealed. //I want to see you...// he thought, not daring to voice the words for fear that it would shatter the delicious feelings governing him and make the instance he found himself in into the stuff dreams are made of.  
  
"Boromir...wait," Faramir said abruptly, pulling away from Boromir just before his brother had succeeded in freeing him from his breeches. He climbed off of Boromir and righted his breeches. "I can't..."  
  
Boromir froze. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? His hands were suspended in mid-air, grasping the air that replaced Faramir's body. He sat up, sharply aware of the unsated throb in his crotch and said quietly, ominously, "Can't what?"  
  
"This. I can't do this." Faramir sat up in the bed and righted his clothing. //I thought you understood, Boromir,// he thought to himself, feeling almost hurt from his brother's harsh tone. He felt his body slowly unwind as the desire and arousal that had coursed through his veins slowly slackened.  
  
Boromir violently turned, unable to face Faramir. "Of course you cannot; it's appalling, contemptible. You do not care to be this close to me," he spat as his irritation waxed. Briefly, he looked back at Faramir who was occupied with straightening his messy hair and clothing. "My needs carry no weight. Never mind what your oh-so dear brother wants!" he cried before turning away again.  
  
Faramir's eyes widened as Boromir gave him the cold shoulder, all but shoving him out of the room with his sharp rejection. "No!" he cried, "That's not it at all!" He reached a hand out and placed it lightly on Boromir's shoulder, but he shrugged it off insistently. "Boromir, please," Faramir implored, "You know that I care for your wants and needs!"  
  
"Oh *please*, Faramir! It's become quite apparent that every time I touch you, you shy away; and what else could be the cause than my own wicked self?" He swiftly rose from the bed, all desire snuffed out and replaced with white-hot anger. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed dangerously and only a few inches from where Faramir sat huddled on the bed. "You lead me on just to drop me when it's the most hurtful!" His tone softened somewhat. "I understand that you are young, inexperienced, but..." his lividity slowly rose again... "But it's painfully unfair of you to continuously do this, time and again! I can't take it!!" Faramir's face seemed carved out of stone, as it did not change expressions. Boromir straightened up, looking tall and threatening in the dim light and thick air. He said in icy tones, "I think you should leave, Faramir. *Now*."  
  
Faramir felt frozen in place, stuck in his huddled position on the bed, his eyes wide with almost-fear at Boromir's explosion. It took several minutes for everything that Boromir had said to set in, the harsh words slowly permeating his heart. He opened his mouth to rebut what his brother had flung at him, but no words came out. He stayed in that position, his eyes shining with intense hurt and betrayal. //You said you understood, Boromir...// he thought to himself again, his eyes filling with tears. "It was not my intent to hurt you, Boromir..." He took a trembling breath, trying to cease the shaking that had started rocking his body. He longed to go over to his brother and wrap his arms around him to expel the hurt he had caused without even knowing it. "I did not mean to lead you on."  
  
"Ha," Boromir laughed, arms folded across his chest. "Maybe you didn't, but that's certainly how it's turned out." He ignored the unadulterated grief visible in the trembling of Faramir's chin and the glittering tears rimming his lower eyelids. Eyes smoldering with muted fury, Boromir hissed "Go, I can't stand to be in the presence of one who so loathes my affection."  
  
Though he desperately tried to keep from weeping, a lone tear slipped down Faramir's cheek and splashed onto his hands which were curled into tight fists. "I..." //He really wants me to go. He's really sending me away...// "I do not loathe your affection, Boromir," he beseeched, his voice breaking as he cried Boromir's name.  
  
"Faramir! Go," Boromir interrupted before Faramir could even finish his reply. He gave Faramir a long, hard stare before swiftly striding to the door. Pulling it open with a creak, a wisp of snow blew in and caused the tongues of flame lighting the candles to sway and threaten to go out. With one hand on the door and the other in a gesture indicating he wanted Faramir to depart, he said levelly, the words deadpanned. "Please, leave."  
  
Finally, Faramir raised himself from the bed. With legs like jelly, he walked towards the door as though as soon as he walked through the large oak door, he was walking back into the solitude that he thought he had been freed from. He paused next to Boromir and reached up as though to caress his cheek, but Boromir jerked away before his hand had even halfway reached his destination. His eyes lowered to the ground, he exited the room. Walking back to his own room, the winter wind cut through him like an ice- cold knife, tearing his heart apart; his body was glaciated, all of his limbs going numb. Somehow he made it back to his room and managed to close the door behind him before sobs overtook him. Sliding down to the ground, Faramir buried his face in his hands crying for the hurt he had caused his brother, and for the unbounded rejection he had felt himself. 


	12. You Mean You Don't Know?

Author's note: So we've finally gotten around to completing the next couple of chapters. This chapter was written entirely by my lovely co- author, Jenn, so please sent her lovely comments at jholsh1towson.edu.  
  
This is a slashy chapter, so if you don't like guys kissing guys (because it's gross, ew!), then please, I suggest you turn back now. If you enjoy reading that kind of stuff, then by all means, please read ahead!  
  
Feedback is always welcomed and much appreciated. Please keep flames to yourself. Thank you.

* * *

"Girion, you are not to report for duty today," Boromir said evenly as he pushed open his friend's door so that it bounced against the small round table by the entrance, causing a wooden plate and cup to fall onto the stone floor with a resounding clatter.  
  
Girion startled from his bed, taking on a defensive position, but relaxed once he pieced together Boromir's face through sleep-fogged vision. "Oh, it's you." Boromir shot him a dark glance, eyes seeming to smolder with an unquenchable blue-green fire. _Something is amiss. And how convenient for him to show up now, right on the day I told myself to seek him out_. "Why haven't I got to report this morning?" he asked, yawning and scratching his tangle of black curls. "And what is the time?" he added.  
  
"It's just after dawn. Don't ask questions, just stay here, will you?" Boromir said quickly as he grabbed a chair from the table he hit, without troubling himself to pick up the dish and cup that he'd knocked over. He sat the chair down at the foot of Girion's bed, which was low to the ground and covered in a thin mattress, worn flat by years without replacement or refilling. Boromir's head was cradled in his hands, his fingers worked through his chestnut locks that fell over his face in a haphazard but appealing manner. "Gods, I've had enough of all of this..." he muttered, perhaps not aloud on purpose.  
  
Girion scooted forward, legs crossed, and sat on his bed near where Boromir was brooding. He raised a hand and hesitantly placed it on his friend's strong shoulder, lightly squeezing. "What? You've have enough of what?" he asked, voice soothing, gently urging, and clearly drowsy. In all the years that Girion had known the steward's eldest offspring, who was a mere five years his junior, he could not recall a time when Boromir looked more distressed. "Come, you know I'll listen. I always have."  
  
"Where do I even begin?!" Boromir asked loudly, suddenly rising and nearly knocking Girion backwards with the power behind his words and abrupt movement. He began to pace furiously around the small hamlet, in and out of the doorway that separated Girion's sleeping quarters from where he kept his foodstuffs and gear, as well as where he did all of his cooking.  
  
Girion rose, feeling rather annoyed and growing quite tired of his friend's vagueness. Bravely, he grabbed Boromir's wrist and stayed his nervous circling, causing the younger man to halt abruptly mid-step and nearly keel over. But Girion caught him, clasping his upper arms and brought him around so that they were face to face. "Now stop it!" he ordered sternly, shaking Boromir ungently. "Though you may be the highest ranking man in Gondor save for Lord Denethor, you do not have leave to come in to a sleepy guard's hamlet, ranting and raving and pacing about without nary a crumb of explanation! Now _please_, my lord, would you mind sitting down and pulling yourself together and then giving me a reason for this spell?" Girion's words were sharp, cutting, but just what Boromir needed.  
  
Gathering up his bearings, Boromir let himself plop down heavily on Girion's bed. "Where do I even begin?" he asked again, sounding defeated and lost. Bringing his watery gaze up to Girion's drowsy one, he said in broken tones, "I've missed your company for so long, Girion..."  
  
Girion smiled sleepily, a smile which turned into a yawn. Covering his mouth, Girion took his place next to Boromir, causing their muscled thighs to touch. There was palpable warmth there, and both men felt it: the tingles beginning in their lower bodies and slowly trickling out to their extremities. Both sighed in unison, shuddering. "I've missed yours, too, Boromir," Girion whispered, using Boromir's first name for the first time in ages. It was something he saved for when they were alone. He continued, pulling away from the other man scarce inches, saying "But your missing doesn't appear to be the reason for your calamity. Anyway, you have been obligated, and rightfully so, to spend time with young Faramir. He is at that age when a big brother is most imperative to have."  
  
Boromir sighed deeply and leaned back, supporting his weight on one hand. It gave Girion a pleasant view of his lean torso, muscles stretched and shaped perfectly from years of training and use in the line of duty. Boromir's deep voice, however, snatched Girion back into the present dilemma. "And alas, the very issue involves Faramir... Yet I fear to tell even you, Girion. Indeed the nature of it all makes me feel ashamed; I would not dare to risk losing a friend as dear as you because of a matter such as... _this_," he finished lamely with a vague toss of his hand.  
  
Girion sucked his teeth, thinking, fitting together the tidbits of information littered in Boromir's words and actions along with all of the secrets that Faramir had shared with him ever since they first became friends less than a year ago. Staring at his hands, fingers laced together chastely, Girion simply said "You and Faramir are sexually involved, I know."  
  
The look on Boromir's face was utterly indescribable. Gaping and gasping in disbelief, he cried "How -- What?! -- But -- Girion! How did you know?!" He sputtered, quite aghast at the clairvoyance the guard seemed to possess.  
  
Girion soothed Boromir's babblings with a finger pressed to his lips. "Shh. Faramir informed me. He and I are friends, you know."  
  
"No, I did _not_ know, but now that I do, I feel much more at ease!" Boromir sighed, regaining composure of himself. Suddenly, he froze. "...What did he tell you?"  
  
Girion yawned again, feeling tiredness wash over him anew as it appeared there would be no further revelations during this visit. "He said that you were just closer, you know, sort of like you and I are," he stated matter- of-factly, words rolling effortlessly off his tongue.  
  
"We haven't slept together, Girion," Boromir said evenly. "That's just the thing."  
  
Girion cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" _This is getting interesting...  
_  
"No. He constantly teases me, whether he means to or not is another thing, but he does and it's so frustrating!" Boromir cried, aggravation waxing. "So I told him to go away and leave me alone. And now I am here..." He trailed off, leaving the connotation up for Girion's own interpretation. Still, Boromir chewed his lip hopefully, feeling that same old warmth creep through his limbs like renewed life spreads through trees once the first breaths of spring break through the winter ices and snows.  
  
Girion was perturbed at his friend and partner's obvious displeasure over Faramir's lack of readiness, but he could sympathize, fully understanding the way that Boromir was by nature, because indeed most, if not all, men were the same way at that age. Stroking Boromir's knee lazily but in a bold move, Girion murmured "I understand your frustration, Boromir. You needn't say any more."  
  
Boromir needed no further prompting. With one hand he covered Girion's and drew it slowly up his thigh, and with the other he reached up and cupped his friend's jaw, drawing their faces together using only his fingertips. Their lips fused together chastely, and hesitantly they fall away from each other again into electrically charged air, similar to that feeling and tension the atmosphere gains preceding a summer thunderstorm.  
  
Girion's hand slipped from Boromir's and before Boromir could recover Girion was stretched out behind him, stroking the side of the bed where Boromir sat. "I'm tired. You'll have to wait," he said with a wink.  
  
Boromir bit his lip, feeling betrayed again. But the look in Girion's obsidian eyes held the promise of more once the day had waned into night and the risk of interruption was dashed.  
  
And so the hours passed; the pair ventured out just as dusk was settling over the world and dimming the sparkle of snow still scattered as far as the eye could see. Boromir sat on the wall outside of Girion's hamlet with his legs slung over the edge, kicking against the ice-encrusted stone bricks. The delicate crunch of snow under boots came up behind him and Girion's warming, calming presence urged him to lean back only to fall into Girion's embrace and nestle his head against the guard's belly.  
  
"Are you feeling better, Boromir?"  
  
Boromir nodded, causing his sun-splashed sandy hair to rustle against Girion's warm but rustic outerwear. Breathing the guard's scent in deeply -- one of woodsmoke and burned pipe leaf -- Boromir's brain was cleared of everything save the rekindled affinity he felt for the man, his first lover.  
  
As the fiery red disc of the sun disappeared bit by bit behind the sawtooth peaks of the White Mountains behind them, their bodies became chilled and they sought body heat, unadulterated and ever-present. Though their heavy breaths crystallized in the chill air, the tangible hotness boiling up between Boromir and Girion chased away all groping fingers of coldness that pervaded the world once the last slice of sun was snuffed up behind jagged snow-capped mountains.  
  
"We should go inside..."  
  
The wooden door was scarcely clicked shut when Boromir caught Girion's mouth in a hot kiss. Startled, Girion jerked his face away and swallowed hard. He took a steadying breath and said, "Boromir, are you sure that this is what you want?"  
  
"Yes, gods, yes" Boromir insisted as he pulled Girion back into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around the guard's muscled back and running his hands down the lean torso. Girion's lips on Boromir's neck sparked chills under his skin that penetrated down to the very marrow of his bones.  
  
A small fire crackled in the shallow hearth opposite the door, illuminating the tiny chamber with an ethereal orange glow. Bare skin was splashed bronze as firelight danced and smoke lingered. Heavy breathing amidst the rustle of garments being removed turned to gasps and sighs once another sensitive patch of skin was unveiled.  
  
"Want you so badly..." "It's been a long time." "Too long..." "So, so gorgeous."  
  
The shoddy mattress rustled as the combined weight of the two men eased in to bed, one on top of the other. Girion felt somewhat detached, strangely enough, but Boromir's unexpected demand changed that sentiment.  
  
"I want to kiss you, like you taught me."  
  
Girion nodded and craned his neck up a bit, so that his slightly parted lips grazed Boromir's stubbled chin. He gasped when Boromir's tongue plunged into his mouth and ravaged it, no soft contour untouched. Their tongues swirled wildly around each other, eliciting sharp gasps as each new sensation threw more fuel onto the smoldering desire ignited in both men's bodies. Boromir deepened the kiss further by reaching around and threading his fingers through Girion's curly hair, hand splayed and fingertips gently massaging the skull.  
  
Girion arched up against Boromir's body, almost unable to contain himself any longer.  
  
Boromir's breath hitched and he eased off, sucking Girion's lower lip in between his teeth and worrying the tender flesh roughly. "Was that good?"  
  
Girion broke into a smarmy grin. "Shut up and quit teasing."  
  
Boromir groaned and rolled over only to collide with something warm that snored. He poked the bare back before him, saying "Girion, you're taking over the whole mattress."  
  
The lump simply grumbled and rolled over to that Girion now faced Boromir. "Well good morning to you, too," he said, voice grainy and thick with sleep. He yawned hugely and stretched his arms out above his head. "I don't suppose you can stay much longer," he whispered, nestling his face into the crook of Boromir's neck.  
  
"I could, if you wished it," he replied as he picked up a strand of Girion's hair and twirled it around his finger. "I have nothing pressing to tend to."  
  
Girion glanced up at Boromir's impassive face questioningly. "And what of Faramir? No doubt he'll want to resolve this disagreement you had with him."  
  
Boromir's eyes darkened, burning with irritation and impatience. He refused to say anything.  
  
"Boromir? You should go to him," Girion insisted as he drew away from his lover. "He needs a brother, especially now."  
  
"What do you mean 'especially now'?"  
  
"You mean you don't know?"  
  
Silence and tension.  
  
"Know what?" Boromir's voice was edged with poisonous choler.  
  
Girion sighed and swallowed hard, gathering his thoughts. "Well... not long after you left a year ago, Faramir was, well... attacked, by these incorrigible bullies and I found him, took him to the Houses of Healing." Girion didn't notice the way Boromir's jaw stiffened with anger. "And then not soon after he recovered, your father sent him out on his own to Ithilien. He thought it would do him good to be on his own, teach him how to be a man and take care of himself. But... he got lost, and a band of rangers found him near death in the wild. But they rescued him and he was healed. I'm sure that Faramir at least told you a bit of this?"  
  
"No, he failed to have this conversation with me, Girion," Boromir replied evenly. Suddenly he catapulted out of the bed and pulled on his clothes. "I have to go."  
  
"Boromir, you're in no state of mind to speak civilly with him now!" Girion said, pleading. "Just wait, calm down a bit--"  
  
"You will not deign to tell me what I will and will not do, Guard! My business is with Faramir and I would prefer it if you kept out of my affairs!"  
  
The same plate and cup that Boromir had knocked down from the table yesterday when he stormed into Girion's cabin tumbled to the ground and shattered. Before Girion could process what he'd just done Boromir was out of sight.  
  
He groaned and sunk back into his bed, covering his face with his pillow. He knew that it would do no good to stop Boromir now; that would be like trying to stop an avalanche. "Gods, what have I done?"  
  
TBC...


	13. It's over

Author's note: Ah, chapter 13. Thank you to everyone who has read this far – we really appreciate it. Please send comments to my lovely co-author Jenn at jholsh1towson.edu.  
  
Warning: There is sibcest here. If you don't like it, don't read it, it's that simple. Flames are not welcome.  
  
Thank you to everyone who has left us such lovely reviews; we really appreciate them :-). Feedback keeps us going!

* * *

"Faramir, how could you?! How long have you been feeding me these lies about.. about everything?! I, I can't believe you would try to hide the truth from me... I thought you trusted me, Faramir!"  
  
Faramir looked up from the book he had been reading, his delicate brow furrowing once faced with his brother's livid presence. His eyes were red from crying over the past several days, but he had slipped back into a state where all he felt was a dead sort of calm; the tears simply fell on their own accord. "What are you going on about, Boromir?" he asked evenly.  
  
Boromir snatched the book from in front of Faramir's face and threw it behind him, letting it land with a resounding thud that echoed through the room. "Don't act stupid, Faramir, you know precisely what I'm talking about." Faramir's impassive expression only added to his fury. Continuing, his voice shaking with rage, "Do you want to tell me the real truth about those boys? I think it was something about them beating you and leaving you on the ground, bleeding? And what about Ithilien, hm? What about trying to follow me for days without food or rest and nearly getting yourself killed?!"  
  
Faramir's hands stayed in the position they were in when he held the book, his eyes widening in fright at his brother's fury. Spanning the last few days, he had seen anger and coldness he never thought possible of his brother, and the behavior was beginning to make him more than a bit scared. "It seems you already know the truth, Boromir."  
  
"Yes, and I had to find it out from someone other than you," he spat. He paced angrily and stopped abruptly, throwing his hands up in the air as if defeated. "Why did you not tell me?!" he cried. "Gods, I thought that you trusted me enough to tell me anything, Faramir...."  
  
"I did trust you! I do trust you," he amended. "I simply did not see the need to tell you when...When I knew that it would only make you upset. Like you are now."  
  
"No, Faramir, you are grossly missing the point." Boromir turned, unable to look at his brother without either screaming in his face or bursting into tears. "I am upset because it was you who did not reveal all of this to me. I've been walking around like an oblivious fool, I had to look like a brother neglectful of his sibling's welfare." A pause. "Clearly you do not trust me. Any trust we had built up is destroyed, Faramir, do you understand? You tore it all down with your lies, lies that you planted in my head so deep that I believed them and pushed my own doubts away." He glanced over his shoulder; Faramir remained unmoving. "I can't stay here," he murmured as he began to make his way to the door that remained open.  
  
"It is always my fault, isn't it?" he said quietly, his eyes trained on the floor instead of following Boromir to the door.  
  
Boromir stopped in the doorframe, one hand resting on the wooden planks. "If that's how you want to look at it, I won't try to persuade you otherwise," he said icily.  
  
"You do not have to persuade me otherwise; you have already persuaded me to think this way. It is always my fault," he repeated, his voice rising. He still did not look up at Boromir. "You have done nothing but blame every anger and every frustration on me since you have returned!" It was almost strange to Faramir, the way his voice was rising, the way anger pooled in his stomach as the words Boromir said to him finally started to permeate. Anger. It was almost foreign to him, the timid second-born son, but somehow it seemed justified. _It is not all your fault, Faramir_, a voice whispered to him in the back of his mind.  
  
Whirling around and letting his rage break through a mental floodgate, Boromir countered "Oh yes, poor helpless Faramir! Always the one victimized! You are not the only one who hurts, brother, so do not even try to make me feel like a criminal here. But no, it is not all your fault. I am the one to blame for even starting this, this... relationship," he finished, waving his hand in the air as if searching for a reason to back up his statement. Faramir's voice had sounded angry for the first time that Boromir could recall, and it only served to fuel his passionate lividity. "I wish I had never kissed you, Faramir. I should have just gone back to Gir--" He broke off and turned again, intending to leave and not look back.  
  
Eyes flying open in shock as though someone had punched him at full force in the stomach, Faramir whirled around to look at his livid brother. _Girion?_ "Girion," he said after a long moment's pause, "You should have gone back to Girion. Is that what you wanted to say?" As if by its own will, his body stood from the chaise he had been reclined on, his legs shaking. "Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have gone with someone who was more mature and able to fulfill your...Your needs. Clearly I was not good enough for you if you thought that you should have never started this in the first place."  
  
His hands then clenched into tight fists, and before he realized what he was doing, he was shouting, raising his voice louder than it had ever been raised. He paid no heed to the fact that the door was open, or that anyone could hear what he was saying. "Maybe it is best that this did end! Maybe it is better that I open my eyes now and realize that I was being fooled! I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! My brother! But no, you ranked the needs of your lust and body over the needs of my heart! I _tried_, Boromir, but I guess that was not good enough for you! I guess that I will never be good enough for you!"  
  
Boromir sighed, resigned. "I waste my time here," he said, sounding defeated. Without another word or glance at the bristling Faramir, Boromir turned away and walked in the direction of the throne room.  
  
"You are a coward, Boromir, son of Denethor!" Faramir shouted at Boromir's retreating back. "A coward," he repeated, though his voice was infinitely softer. He dropped back down onto his chair, staring dumbfounded at the doorway where his brother stood not a few moments earlier.  
  
_Yes, I am a coward. I know it, Faramir, and I am ashamed of it. I will be gone soon, and you will not have to stand to suffer seeing me any more._ Boromir felt a cold pang in his chest where it was once warmed by Faramir's affectionate words and presence.

* * *

Boromir stormed up the stairway and across the courtyard, shoving past the rabble of servants that swept over to him, offering to bring him food or drink. "Let me by!" he commanded menacingly.  
  
The twin doors to the throne room were thrown open and Boromir strode purposefully to the lowered dais where Denethor sat, inanimate and seemingly lost in thought and rumination.  
  
"Father," Boromir said, bowing quickly. "I have changed my mind."  
  
Immediately Denethor seemed to come to life, his eyes lighting up as his gaze fell on his most loved son, paying no heed to the stormy countenance that radiated from him. Standing from the base throne, he drew himself up to his full height and walked over to Boromir, a pleased smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "And what brings about this change of mind, my son?"  
  
Boromir shook his head obstinately, causing his locks of sandy hair to fall messily over his forehead. "I gave the matter some thought and I've decided that since my loyalties lie to my lord and country that I should do all that I can to protect these lands that I hold dearest." His voice was flat, his gaze determined, his posture stiff and tall. He couldn't possibly reveal to his father that it was because of his explosion with Faramir that he wished to leave as quickly as possible.  
  
Nodding his head approvingly, Denethor began circling Boromir, looking his son up and down as if inspecting him. "That they do," he said idly, "That they do." Denethor took Boromir by the shoulders and turned him around to look him in the eye. "This is very important, Boromir, I expect you to do your best. I trust that you will be more than capable to head your own company." His words were pitched flat, leaving no room for argument or question.  
  
Boromir sighed. _It's done, now_. "Very well then, father. I will go to the livery and leave as soon as may be." He turned, not expecting any further discussion to waylay him and possibly cause him to rethink his decision to depart. _What's done is done, Boromir. You can't stay here._

_

* * *

_For a long time Faramir sat alone, staring off into the air, not knowing how much time had passed; his limbs were numb and heavy, his mind felt as though it were trapped in a fog and it could not find the way out. Is that what anger felt like? That searing, blinding, all-encompassing feeling that cut through him like a white-hot knife was anger? But now, try as he might, he could no longer muster any anger towards Boromir; it had all faded as he caught his last glimpse of his brother's turned back.  
  
Forcing himself to move, he started to shuffle about his room, his feet dragging. With numb hands, he collected sheets of parchment from every corner of his room, poems and prose he had scribbled about his brother of the times they had spent together, of the way Boromir's sandy hair fell into his eyes as he looked down in concentration, of the way his eyelashes cast sooty shadows on his cheeks as he rested, bathed in moonlight. Without even looking at the pages, he knew what each one said by heart, and suddenly he felt foolish. The doting words that had tumbled from his mind to his quill seemed foolish.  
  
He searched the room for the book that Boromir hurled and pulled out the place marker, a faded ribbon that used to be red - one of the remembrances Faramir kept of their mother. He stacked the leaves of parchment together and tied the ribbon around them. Sighing heavily, he forced himself to walk from his room to Boromir's, only noticing he reached the room when he found himself looking at the heavy oak door. He let himself in and placed the sheets on Boromir's bed; his hands had begun to shake. It took every ounce of his will not to linger in the room, to lie in Boromir's bed and smell the older man's scent, to run his fingers over the rough wool of one of his brother's discarded tunics.  
  
Instead, he left, walking purposefully now. He headed down toward the fourth level of the city, down the long stone corridor that contained the guards' quarters, knowing exactly what his purpose was there. He stopped in front of the door at the very end of the hall and knocked, surprised to feel the burning feeling return to his stomach.  
  
Girion peeked out from under scratchy blankets and called, voice hindered by sleep, "Come in." As the door creaked open he swung his snugly linen- clad legs over the side of the mattress and stretched out his muscled arms, yawning hugely. The small of his back ached a little bit, and the indent in the mattress next to his own groove quickly reminded him of the night before. But his attention was diverted to the other Steward's son as Faramir slowly entered the humble abode.  
  
"Were you sleeping, Girion?" Faramir lingered by the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark room. "Should I come back some other time?"  
  
Girion stifled another cavernous yawn and shook his head. "No, no, it's about time I was awake.... what brings you here, Faramir?" he asked, suddenly curious as to this unexpected visit.  
  
"Boromir just came to speak with me," he said shortly, his voice hollow.  
  
"Oh, umm...." Girion stood and pulled a loose fitting shirt over his head as he went over to take out two cups and fill them with water. "What had he to say?" he asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He gestured to Faramir to take a seat with him at the small rickety table.  
  
Faramir declined wordlessly, staying by the door as though he were a statue. "He spoke to me about Ithilien. If one could call such words _speaking_."  
  
Girion sipped at his drink and refused to look at Faramir. The silence was heavy and tense, and he regretted his decision to allow Faramir entrance.  
  
"You told him, didn't you?"  
  
He looked up finally and met Faramir's icy stare. Setting his jaw firmly, he said, "Yes, I told him. Someone had to."  
  
"It was not your place to tell him!" Faramir exploded, his eyes flashing. "How could you? Everything is ruined now!" He started pacing near the door, wringing his hands together frantically. "Do you know what he said to me? He said that he never should have started this relationship to begin with! He is never going to speak to me again, Girion! Because you told him!"  
  
Girion's normally rational attitude was shelved and he replied levelly without letting his irritation show too much, "Faramir, I told him because I care about him. It was unfair that he, your own brother, Faramir, was left in the dark for so long. Recall that you told me you shared the events with him, Faramir. I believed you, and I was shocked to hear that you actually had not told him when he was here last night."  
  
He paused, collecting his thoughts as he took another drink. "As for the relationship...." He stood up and moved nearer to Faramir, hesitantly. "I don't know what to say."  
  
For every step that Girion took closer to him, Faramir took another step back. He looked up at the taller man, feeling small, but his hurt still controlled him. "I never wanted him to know! Why couldn't you respect that?"  
  
Girion stopped and let his shoulders slump. "Why couldn't you respect _him_, Faramir?"  
  
"I do respect him! That is why I didn't want him to know! How could I let someone that I respect so much hear about how weak I was? How could I let him hear about how I was nothing but a miserable failure? And now it is all over." Faramir looked up at Girion, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I'm sure that he will be very happy with you. Like he was before."  
  
Girion felt like drawing the young man into a close embrace, but something told him that that was the last thing Faramir would want from him. "All I meant was that it was disrespectful to keep the wool pulled over his eyes, Faramir, that is all." He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to allay the throb that pulsed there unbidden. "Faramir, Boromir and I are friends. We're not a.. pair, if that's what you think... " He turned around and returned to his place on his mattress. "Besides," he continued softly, "I do not think that he will be around for much longer."  
  
"What do you mean you don't think he will be around for much longer?" Faramir asked quickly. "You cannot mean that he is leaving. He said that he should go back to you. He wouldn't leave after words like that." He was speaking rapidly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to convince himself that Boromir could not possibly leave.  
  
Girion looked up at Faramir, eyes clouded with worry. "I don't know what he's going to do, Faramir, but if I know Boromir, he's seriously going to consider it."  
  
"But if he..." Faramir's heart sloughed its anger almost immediately upon hearing Girion's assessment. A heartwrenching sorrow took its place, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, a sob escaped. Tears were soon flowing down his cheeks. "He can't leave again!" he cried, "He can't leave me again!"  
  
Girion quickly eliminated the distance between he and Faramir and drew the young, shivering man against his chest. "Shh, shh, Faramir. I'm sure he'll stay..." Though Girion's intuition told him otherwise, he couldn't help but reassure Faramir that his brother would remain in the white city.  
  
"He is through with me," Faramir sobbed into Girion's chest, "He doesn't want me anymore, and he will leave again. Like you said. When he..." His sobs became more powerful as the muttered words that Boromir had said aside took on new meaning. "He said that he could not stay here."  
  
He couldn't bear to lie and say that Boromir wouldn't go away, and so Girion simply held Faramir close, giving him a shoulder to cry on and a warm embrace to feel safe in. "I'll speak to him, if you wish," he offered lamely.  
  
Faramir shook his head, knowing that Girion knew as well as he did that Boromir's mind could not be changed once it had been set, especially if he made a decision out of anger. "He will not listen." Slowly his thin arms came up to encircle Girion's waist. "I'm going to be alone again," he whispered.  
  
Girion suppressed a grunt of surprise and turned it into saying, "No, Faramir. You'll still have an idiotic tower guard around, though he scarcely measures up to Boromir."  
  
Shifting so that he could look up at Girion through tear-filled eyes, he took several shuddering breaths to try and control his emotions. "I did not mean to yell at you, Girion," he apologized tearfully.  
  
Girion tenderly stroked the crown of Faramir's wavy chestnut head and said softly, "No need to apologize, little one. I deserved it." He rolled his eyes in a self-deprecating way. "Now, let me get dressed, and I'll go try and talk some sense into your brother."  
  
The younger boy stiffened in Girion's arms immediately. "No. It won't do any good." His tears slackened as he began to withdraw into himself again, the same place he sought refuge in while Boromir had been away all of those months. "If he wants to go, he should go."  
  
Girion reluctantly let go of Faramir and knelt down at the foot of his bed. "You can't possibly mean that, Faramir," he replied as he rummaged through a wood chest for a fresh pair of leggings, warmer ones.  
  
"Yes, I mean it." Faramir walked over to Girion and wrapped his arms around the older man, staying his rummaging. "He will not listen to you."  
  
Girion raised his dark eyes, beseeching Faramir silently to let him at least try. Standing, and in turn causing Faramir to slacken his grip on him, Girion slipped one leg into his leggings and stopped, looking at Faramir. "I can try, can't I? Or do you think I should really just let him go off in a whirlwind of anger like that?" He stuck his foot into the other leg and pulled the leggings up, clasping them at the waist and then moved to look for his cloak.  
  
Faramir's eyes as he watched Girion were cherry-red and still glossy from crying, but they regarded the older man with an eerie sort of calm resignation. "It will not change his mind, so if you go, speak to him on your own behalf." Sighing, he shuffled over to Girion's bed and plopped down onto the thin mattress. "This is not the first fight we've had. The other night he lost his temper because I would not...He sent me away after that."  
  
Girion paused and regarded Faramir from the opposite side of the room where he was straightening up the mess the night before had left; plates with bread crusts and half-empty cups of wine laid forgotten on the top of the small cupboard in the corner of his hamlet. He said evenly, "You mean to tell me that he got angry because you wouldn't give yourself to him?" His left eye twitched involuntarily, a trickle of rage beginning to flow through him.  
  
He nodded solemnly, looking at the weathered stone floor. "He said that he was tired of me constantly ignoring his own needs and leading him on time and time again. And then he told me to leave. He was so angry...I could see it in his eyes." Faramir chewed the inside of his cheek as he hashed over the first fight he and his brother had ever had. "And then he did not speak to me again until today."  
  
Girion sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Well that certainly changes the situation. He came to me that night, you know. But he said nothing of an argument with you." Resigned, he pulled out a chair and propped his feet up on the table, picking at the remnants of a loaf of bread that sat in the middle on a linen towel. "Then perhaps it is best that he does leave," he muttered darkly, despite the fact he would miss Boromir's company, especially at night.  
  
Inwardly Faramir battled with himself. The part of him that had confronted Boromir earlier with his unfairness told him that it was not his fault, that Boromir said he understood. But still, that not-so-small voice of insecurity continued to whisper in his ear that it was his fault, that he should not have led his brother on without the intention of giving him what he wanted. "Girion," he said quietly, looking very much like the young, lost boy that Girion had come to know in Boromir's absence, "Was it my fault that Boromir became so angry?"  
  
Girion shifted uncomfortably, torn between speaking his mind and keeping his words checked so as to not hurt the young man's delicate feelings. "Well, you must know by now that men do tend to get er... caught up in the moment, and that it's hard--I mean--difficult--to think of anything else in the heat of the moment." Noting the glistening look in Faramir's eyes he amended quickly, "But that does not give Boromir any right to chastise you for it; he should know to respect your wishes, too."  
  
"Perhaps it is for the best, then, that he has someone mature like you. Someone who can...Give him what he needs." Faramir nodded then, as though trying to convince himself that the split in the relationship between him and Boromir was for the best.  
  
Girion held up a finger and beckoned Faramir towards him. The boy complied, though reluctantly, and Girion reached out once he was up and pulled Faramir nearer to him by the hem of his tunic. Patting Faramir on the back, eyes tilted up and filled with reassurance, he said "I said before that Boromir and I were only friends. Though he and I have a history, we are not a match made to endure. And I mean that... he will come around soon enough. As long as you can find it in your heart to accept him once he realizes what a dolt he's being."  
  
"He will always have a place in my heart...It seems like I would be betraying myself if I didn't." He managed to give Girion a small smile, realizing how valuable the guard's friendship really was to him. "What would I do without you, Girion?"  
  
"Oh, I imagine you'd be much happier without me around to crack stupid jokes and pranks and generally be a nuisance," he said dryly. He grinned though, and continued, "No, I don't mean that. I am glad that you entrust me, of all people, with such matters." Girion knotted the hem of Faramir's shirt through his fingers absently, grazing the pale skin beneath just barely.  
  
A shiver ran through Faramir's body as Girion's calloused fingers brushed lightly against his skin. "If I didn't have you as a friend, I don't know who I _could_ entrust with such matters."  
  
"Well, all that matters is that you do have me. For which I am very happy." Girion boldly drew Faramir nearer and nestled his forehead against Faramir's stomach in a gesture of affection. Sighing and letting go, he said "I still wish to speak with Boromir. I do not ask you to come, but that is where I am going." Rising quickly, he snatched his cloak and secured it around his shoulders before heading to the door.  
  
"M-May I stay here?" he asked softly, his blue-green eyes following Girion like a puppy follows its owner. "I don't think I can go back to my room after...It will only remind me of how he yelled at me."  
  
Girion paused in the doorframe. He nodded slowly and scratched his head in seeming comtemplation. "Sure, if you like... though I am afraid there's nothing to entertain yourself with.." he stated with a hint of apology in his words.  
  
Faramir scanned the room quickly, looking for something to occupy himself with. "Do you have a quill and parchment?"  
  
Girion scrunched his face up in thought. "Umm, there may be some under the bed.... somewhere," he quipped, waving his hand vaguely. "Go ahead, leaf through my things, I don't care!" he laughed and half-turned. Before he shut the door, he said to Faramir as he stood in the middle of the room, "I'll be back soon... if anyone comes to call upon me, don't tell them where I've gone. I would prefer keeping my whereabouts on my off days a secret; I'm a very private person." He grinned broadly, then disappeared from the doorway, hurrying off in the direction of Boromir's quarters.

TBC...


	14. Solace

Title: Leaves of Parchment, 14?  
Authors: Jenn and Silverlake Elf Summary: With Boromir away, Faramir finds himself alone again. But now Girion is around, and the two find themselves gravitating towards each other.

A/N: Wow, sorry I took so long to post this. It's been finished since the summer, and now here I am, almost a year later, finally updating. I'm sure that not many people are left who read this, but I thought it would be worth a try anyway.

* * *

For the first time in the season, the sun was a bright orb over Minas Tirith rather than a milky-yellow circle that barely lit the landscape. The new warmth was melting away the layers of snow that covered the White City, signaling that the end of winter was fast approaching. Like a chick hatching from its egg, the citizens of Minas Tirith slowly started to emerge from their hamlets carved into the white stone of the city, embracing the weather which was growing warmer by the day.

For Faramir, though, the weather seemed just as cold as it was in the depths of winter. During the first week of Boromir's absence, Faramir had simply refused to leave his room, no matter the cajoling the servants did or how many times Girion had knocked on his door, trying to draw him out. Eventually, though, he found that as the memories of the fight he'd had with Boromir closed in on him he couldn't stay in his room.

So he had taken to skulking about the city, reminding the guards that stood on watch more of a storm cloud than the younger son of the Steward. On that thawing day he found himself outside the walls of the city, wandering aimlessly around the small target field for archery. A haze had settled around him since Boromir's departure, and he didn't realize until he was at the small dirt practice ground that he had grabbed his bow and quiver.

Remembering how he and Boromir had come out there to practice just months before, he listlessly fired an arrow at one of the targets, not putting any effort into his archery. The arrow sailed well past its target and embedded its head into the cold ground. Sighing, Faramir dropped his quiver to the ground then followed it, dropping himself into the melting snow. His eyes downcast, he studied the tip of his bow absently, running his thumb over the smooth wood as his thoughts drifted to Boromir once again.

Girion the guard was in a merry mindset, and it was only enhanced when he was informed during his midday meal that he was not needed to return to his post for the rest of the day. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, he abandoned his food mid-chew and shuffled down to his hamlet, more than glad to shed his armor and chain maille. Sloughing it off disdainfully, Girion quickly replaced his armor with comfortable yet warm garments and was out the door just as swiftly as he'd entered.

For the past fortnight, Girion had been seeing less and less of Faramir, and despite countless knocks on his door, the younger son of Denethor was not to be lured out of his quarters, not even to see his friend. Girion had resigned himself to positioning himself at his post so that he would be able to see Faramir if he emerged, but not once did the door open, not even a crack. Now that the weather had begun to grow balmier, Girion regained a grain of hope that Faramir would be coaxed out by the sunshine and melting snows.

In light of the fact that spring was on the horizon, it only seemed logical to Girion that Faramir would want to bathe himself in the warming air, filled with the first scents of blooming trees and the delicate twitterings of the first songbirds returning from the southern delta of great Anduin. As Girion meandered his way through the city, he whistled an inane ditty to himself and waved at passers-by who saluted him, knowing that he was a Guard of the Citadel. Finally, after dodging an overturned wain bearing bushels of grain and a rabble of blushing maidens making eyes at him, Girion found himself at the armory. _Perhaps he will be in here,_ Girion mused, approaching the entrance.

"Ho, Galador!" Girion said as he hailed the man in charge of the armory and its stores of weaponry. "Have you seen Lord Faramir at all?" he asked, grinning his most endearing smile. This was especially crucial because for some odd reason, Galador held a distaste for the guard. Girion wasn't really sure why, but he presumed that it was because when they were young, Girion had always won their contests of wargames over Galador.

Grimacing, Galador trained his beady eyes up to Girion's grinning countenance. With a snarl curling at the corner of his mouth, he replied thinly, "He didn't come here, no, but I did see him moping around with his own bow and quiver before he bid the gate guards to let him out." Galador looked over Girion, feeling almost envious of how his childhood nemesis had advanced to such a high-ranking position in the echelons of guard companies. "Why do you ask?" he wondered, suspicious.

Girion ignored the dubious look that Galador raked over him. "So he's gone to the target area?" Galador nodded, refusing to abandon the sneer plastered on his features. Girion thought that he looked like he'd smelled something that had been rotting for a month in the hot sun. Smiling charmingly, Girion chirped, "Thank you, dear Galador, you have been most helpful." With that, he turned on his heel and sallied over to the gate guards, who were slacking off and trying to wrestle one another.

After much yelling for the guards' attention, Girion was finally permitted to exit the gate and resume his quest to find Faramir. Rounding the corner to the target area, he smiled to see Faramir sitting in the thinning snow, studying his finely crafted bow absently. Girion marched towards Faramir, his boots sticking a little bit in the mud formed by the snowmelt, and said "Faramir! I was beginning to think I would never see you again!"

Faramir looked up momentarily to confirm that it was Girion's voice that he'd heard. Without responding, he turned his attention back to his bow, this time pulling at the string. He sighed heavily as he manipulated the taut horse hair, wondering to himself not why Girion was out there and trying to speak to him, but whether or not he would see Boromir again. And, more importantly, whether Boromir would _want_ to see him again.

Girion flopped down in the snow, causing some of it to fly up and land on Faramir's legs. "What's going on, Faramir?" he asked as his worry waxed. However, Girion was not stupid nor was he dense. Immediately he picked up on Faramir's depression and brought his hand up to brush aside a lock of hair that had fallen over Faramir's porcelain cheek. "You miss him."

"Miss who?" Faramir asked hollowly. Normally he was enthused to see his good friend, but he couldn't seem to muster his normal cheer for Girion, wanting rather to be left alone with his thoughts. His fingers loosened around his bow and the weapon fell into the snow with a muffled thud.

"Who else?" Girion shifted, unprepared for Faramir's intensely downcast demeanor. "It's certainly not me that you've missed. I'm not that much of a simpleton." Out of habit, Girion looped him arm about Faramir's waist and rubbed his side vigorously, as if to warm him by way of friction. Bringing Faramir's head to rest on his broad shoulder, Girion stated, voice tender, "I am sorry. I wish that there was something I could do."

Faramir relaxed slowly, soon letting the full weight of his head come to rest on Girion's shoulder as he reluctantly accepted the older man's comfort. "I wish there was something _I_ could do," he said quietly, "I wish that I could bring him back." Tears sprang to his eyes, but he stubbornly willed them away.

An odd feeling of jealousy welled up in Girion. Was his presence not enough to distract Faramir from his despair? The irrationality of his feelings made Girion uneasy. It was true that he had taken a keen liking for Faramir, but it wasn't until now that he began to question the true depth of affection he held for him. It was unfair of him to even consider the notion of taking a higher place in Faramir's heart than Boromir. _They are brothers, after all. More than that, really._ Not knowing what else to say, Girion simply dried the stray tear that had escaped Faramir's blue-green eyes with the pad of his thumb. _What Faramir needs right now are not your jealous emotions, Girion. Just comfort the boy, that's what he really needs. _

Faramir, however, was too absorbed in his sorrow to be aware of Girion's discomfort. "I miss him so much…" he admitted quietly. "I feel so empty without him here. I hate knowing that he's away while he still harbors such a dislike for me." It was as though a dam had been breached, and soon Faramir was confessing all of his insecurities to the Gondor guard. "I wish that I could go back and time and change what I did. I wish that I could have just given him what he wanted; none of this would have happened if I hadn't."

"No, no Faramir. Don't regret anything... imagine if you had given in... do you really think that you would have been prepared for it?" he said, and though his reply was not exactly meant to comfort but rather to educate, his voice remained smooth. Faramir's words, every single one, felt like icy daggers piercing his chest. Even though they were deep, close secrets that Faramir had shared with no one else, Girion still felt needlessly insecure and hurt. Masking his emotions, Girion patted down Faramir's hair and drew him in close, snuggling him up against his body and chasing away the shivers that their snowy seat caused. "And take heart, Faramir. He will return, that's for sure. Before long there will be errand riders bringing word from him, and that's a certain bellwether to his impending homecoming."

"Errand riders?" Faramir's countenance brightened considerably at the thought of a dispatch rider bearing word from Boromir. He smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever, glad suddenly that Girion was sitting there with him to give him words of comfort. He wrapped his arms around Girion's waist, returning the embrace. "I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, Girion," he said, thinking that the older man would be happy to hear his words.

"I'm lucky to have you as a friend, Faramir. Both sons of the steward wrapped around my finger, who would've thought!" he quipped, trying to bring back his typical sunny disposition. Suddenly, he pushed Faramir over in the snow and stood up, brushing himself off and grinning. He felt the seat of his pants with his ungloved hand and grimaced. "You got my pants wet, I'll have you know!"

Faramir's face had just started to fall again as he remembered how close his brother and Girion had been, but the guard's playful shove got to him before his thoughts could stray too far. "Girion!" he cried, flailing momentarily as he found himself surrounded by wet, cold snow. He stood, tearing off his cloak made heavy with moisture. "I was not the one who told you to sit down in the snow!"

"It would've been awkward to just stand here like a scarecrow, wouldn't it?" Girion retorted, sticking his tongue out. He whirled around and began to trek back to the gate. "Now I've got to change. My rear's going to ice over, I believe. I'll leave you to your archery." Girion purposefully walked slower, expecting Faramir to come bounding up next to him and accompany him back to the city. He feared what tangled webs of jealousy and envy his mind would weave without Faramir around to distract him from his unfounded hurt.

"Girion, wait!" Faramir called, doing exactly what Girion had expected and bounding up to him like a puppy, almost no traces of the funk he was in remaining save for a twinge of sadness in his blue eyes. "You owe me a dry set of clothes, you know!" He trudged after Girion tugging on his cloak, making sure Girion had his attention.

The pair wound their way back up through the circles of Minas Tirith, drawing many stares and giggles from the out-and-about citizens due to their damp trouser-bottoms and dishevelled hair. From a distance it almost appeared that Boromir was home again, with his little brother tailing him like usual as they enjoyed the company of each other. Girion stopped to fetch some foodstuffs for his pantry, which thoroughly exasperated Faramir since he was getting cold and ansty from having wet pants. "My, but you are an impatient thing!" Girion exclaimed once he re-emerged onto the street and looked upon the anxiously pacing Faramir.

"I am not impatient!" Faramir protested good-naturedly, "I simply want to get some dry clothing!" Shaking his head, he followed Girion loyally back to his quarters, feeling better than he had in a long while. He was glad that he had Girion who always worked to cheer him up, even when he wasn't at all receptive to his friendly efforts.

"Here, you can dry yourself off if necessary," Girion barked, tossing a handwoven towel at Faramir's face. He was rooting through the cedar chest located at the foot of his bed and Faramir was standing at the side of Girion's sad excuse for a mattress, looking quite bothered by the chill wetness on his behind caused by the snow. He withdrew fresh clothes for both of them. "I'm afraid that you may find yourself swimming in these," Girion said regretfully as he laid down the dry pants for Faramir to change in to. Completely at ease, Girion stripped off his cloak and tunic, even though his shirt wasn't really affected by any weather phenomena. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, yawning and showing off his sinewy muscles and built physique. Noticing Faramir gawking at him, Girion quickly covered himself again and pulled a new shirt over his head that was topped with messy black curls. "Much better," he muttered, feeling himself flush a little bit knowing that Faramir had been scrutinizing his body. He didn't know why he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks... typically he was a confident man, completely at ease with himself.

Demurely, Faramir turned his back to Girion before shedding his sodden clothing. He was still very conscious of his spindly frame, and while Girion was his friend, he was still uncomfortable with changing in front of the guard. He tugged on the weatherbeaten clothing quickly and found he had to roll the sleeves of the rough shirt up several times before he had use of his hands. The trousers kept slipping off of his narrow hips, and he grabbed at them constantly as he tried to keep them up around his waist. "You wouldn't happen to have a belt, would you, Girion? Or a length of rope? Or string? Anything?"

Girion raised an eyebrow and looked round his living space. "A-ha," he announced, pointing to a length of rope lying coiled on the floor between the wall and a large chest. He picked it up and observed the braided cincture compared to Faramir's narrow waist and hips. "You can try this," Girion said lowly as his eyes remained fixed upon Faramir's abdomen. He stepped forward and closed the gap between himself and the younger boy and looped the rope around Faramir's waist. He began to draw it around and tie it, fingers working quickly and nimbly but still brushing the smooth white skin of Faramir's stomach. "Is this sufficient?" he asked, glancing down to Faramir's downcast face.

Faramir tested the makeshift belt with a slight tug and then stepped away from Girion. For some reason, his friend's propinquity was beginning to make him slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, it is perfect. Thank you." Perhaps it was just the man's commanding presence; he was so tall and sure of himself. Faramir started to sidle towards the door. "I should get back to my room now…Father will no doubt be looking for me soon…"

"Oh... alright..." Girion said, surprised. His hands remained suspended in the air that had been occupied by Faramir's warm presence seconds before. "Um..." he ruffled his hair with his hand, which was sort of a nervous habit of his. "I'm sorry again about the snow and your clothes and..." But Faramir was gone, and Girion found himself talking to his door that was left ajar.

Faramir found, as the days passed, that his behavior with Girion had been more than ridiculous. He knew that he only managed to demonstrate the considerable age difference between him and the guard with his childish behavior, practically fleeing from Girion's quarters and hiding himself for several days before seeking the guard out to speak to him. He chided himself in good humor and went to make amends with him. He knew that Girion's friendship was invaluable, and he soon became more at ease around the older man as he began to wonder exactly where the discomfort had come from. He figured it to simply be his separation from Boromir, his brother that was always consistently with him, if not physically then in spirit.

He found himself spending more and more time at Girion's quarters as the weeks wore on, still smarting over Boromir's departure, but comforted whenever he spent time with his friend. He normally frequented the small quarters with his customary leaves of parchment and a piece of charcoal, drawing to pass the time as Girion talked at length about whatever was on his mind.

"... And so Hirluin was fast asleep, I mean, an earthquake couldn't have woken him up, so me and a couple other of the guards in training with us crept up on him and just _slaughtered_ him with this freezing cold pail of water, and another one of the guys replaced his pillow with a head of lettuce and oh it was the most hysterical thing..." Girion had been recounting his tales of pranks from back during his days of training to be a tower guard. He sat reclined in a wooden chair with his feet on the table and a half-eaten apple in his hand, telling his stories with gusto. Faramir was sprawled on the bed across from him, looking back and forth between a leaf of parchment and Girion's lit-up face. He noticed this, and asked, stopping his storytelling, "You're not even listening! What are you doing?"

Faramir, completely engrossed in his sketching, did not hear Girion's question or notice the break in his storytelling. He was mesmerized by the strong lines of Girion's face that were slowly starting to take shape on the yellowed piece of parchment he grasped in his hands. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he was oblivious to everything around him save for the scratching of the charcoal on paper.

Girion was feeling impish, and a second later the apple that was in his hand was sailing across the room and hit Faramir, just grazing the top of his head before landing on the mattress. "I asked you a question." Noticing that Faramir had been hard at work over his papers, he leaned forward and asked, "What's that?"

Faramir looked up sharply as the apple grazed his pate, but quickly hid the parchment behind him as Girion questioned what he was doing. "It's nothing!" he lied, rubbing the top of his head and mussing his sandy-brown hair. "You didn't have to _throw_ something at me, you know. I would have answered if you had just asked me politely."

"But I did ask you politely," Girion shot back, standing up quickly and flopping onto the bed. He reached around and grabbed for the sheet, face alight and his tongue stuck halfway out his mouth teasingly. "You seemed quite enraptured with it, it must be something of great importance to you."

Faramir shifted on the worn mattress, keeping the drawing out of Girion's reach. He was proud of his sketch, but an embarrassed flush colored his cheeks at the thought of Girion finding out that he had been drawing him so intently. "It's nothing more than a doodle."

"Well if it's a doodle then just let me see it, nothing to be secretive about, right?" Girion said persistently. In one quick move he lunged from the parchment and snatched it from behind Faramir's back. "Ha!" Girion looked down before Faramir could grab it back, and smiled to see his own face looking back in the form of curving charcoal lines, smudged in places with Faramir's fingerprints.

"Girion! Give it back!" Blushing, Faramir lunged at Girion in an attempt to get his piece of parchment back. He could tell, with dissatisfaction, that as they grappled for the picture, Girion's face was becoming more and more smudged. "This isn't fair!" he cried in protest as the guard used his long arms to hold the drawing out of Faramir's reach.

"You know, I really like how you brought out my beautifully chiseled cheekbones," Girion remarked as he ogled the drawing appraisingly. "And my eyebrows. I must say that I am _quite_ handsome... Whoa!"

Girion tumbled to the ground as Faramir attacked him, reaching and clawing for the sketch. Before Faramir could gain the upper hand Girion tucked the sheet underneath him where Faramir's groping hands couldn't reach.

Climbing on top of Girion, Faramir tried in vain to reach for his drawing, poking Girion in the sides where he knew that the guard was most ticklish. "Give it back, Girion! You weren't supposed to see that!" He kneed Girion in the stomach playfully, but still applied enough pressure to try to get his friend to give up the drawing.

Girion stuck his tongue out at Faramir in indignation. "Ah! Now didn't you learn to say please?" he asked sweetly, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes to their most innocent expression.

Faramir narrowed his eyes at Girion and lowered his face to his like a predatory animal. "Give it back…_Now_," he said in a voice reminiscent of Boromir when he was miffed.

Girion darted his tongue out and licked the tip of Faramir's nose. "Make me. You know I think I might get this drawing framed..."

Faramir withdrew slightly and his face scrunched up when Girion's tongue flicked across the tip of his nose, but the surprised gesture was soon replaced with a coltish smile. "Even if I do…this?" he whispered before closing the distance between his face and Girion's, kissing the older man's lips lightly.

To Girion, things seemed to phase into slow motion the second Faramir kissed him. Instinctively he arched up and returned the sign of affection, but with more pressure. "I think you're making me..." he whispered against Faramir's mouth.

Faramir had only intended for the kiss to be a joke, something to shock Girion into giving back his picture. The last thing he had expected was for the guard to kiss him back, and for himself to not pull away from the contact. "Maybe I should continue, then…" he breathed before kissing Girion again, shyly, but with an underlying force behind it.

Girion shortly took control of the situation and gently urged Faramir over, reversing their positions. Now that he was free from Faramir's weight, he leaned back down and began to kiss Faramir again, this time trying to penetrate the young man's mouth with his tongue. It didn't occur to him what was really happening, it was all just natural and desired, and he could tell by the palpable warmth between their lower bodies that that was a shared sentiment.

For the first time in weeks, all thoughts of Boromir were pushed out of Faramir's head as Girion's tongue ravaged his mouth. His eyes slipped closed and his hands floated to the back of Girion's head, threading his fingers through the dark, curly hair, encouraging Girion to deepen the kiss.

"There's your drawing, like you asked," Girion mumbled between kisses. He reached over and ran his hand over the sheet of parchment, causing it to crinkle as his fingers passed over it absently. The sound seemed to come from far off, muffled as if through thick walls. The sensations governing his actions were overwhelming, and he groaned as Faramir kissed him back in his stilted, inexperienced way.

"Keep it," Faramir murmured, forgetting completely about the picture. He was intoxicated by Girion's full lips as they massaged his sensuously. He should have stopped, but his conscience was slowly being tuned out, replaced by the appeal of Girion's weight on top of him. His legs slid up, letting the guard settle between them, the heat of their bodies rubbing together.

Girion let one of his hands drop and travel the length of Faramir's lean torso until he reached the young man's hip bone, jutting out. He splayed his fingers so that they were just bare inches from Faramir's groin. "You can stop me, if you want," he murmured as he continued to feast upon Faramir's soft mouth.

Faramir shivered as Girion's fingertips tickled the skin over his protruding hipbone. When Girion's words left his lips, Faramir's hand went to cover the man's larger hand, keeping him from pulling it away. Girion had always made him feel important, even attractive at times. With Girion, there wasn't the same tugging that made him want to pull away like when he was with Boromir. "Don't stop," he said, his words barely audible.

"We should move, then," Girion whispered in a matching soft voice. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from Faramir's lower body and began to get up. He kissed Faramir's neck and swiped his tongue over it before he tore his mouth completely away, and immediately he thirsted to simply ravish Faramir right then and there. "Go ahead," he said, voice choked with lust.

Faramir stood on trembling legs and walked slowly over to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he lowered himself onto the thin mattress. He awkwardly laid himself out over the fur pelts, though he remained propped up on his elbows. He watched Girion's movements nervously as the man slowly started to remove his clothes, but his nerves weren't enough for him to want to remove himself from the situation.

Girion deftly shed his shirt and loosed his trousers as well. He glanced up at Faramir and gave him a cursory sweep of the eyes over his whole body. He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to undress Faramir, slowly and deliberately, discovering every part of him individually. Without hesitation he climbed on the bed and Faramir scooted over awkwardly to make room. He laid his hand over Faramir's chest and smiled when he felt the heartbeat thrumming feverishly. "Your heart is pounding, Faramir," he said, smiling.

Faramir opened his mouth, but all that came out was a mousy squeak. He nodded his head and then swallowed hard, his blue eyes wide with anticipation. He couldn't seem to find any words to say to Girion. Shyly, Faramir turned to his side facing Girion, and began running his hands over the man's flat stomach. His other hand soon followed, tracing every curve of his body.

Girion smiled comfortingly and allowed Faramir's hands to roam over his body. Eclipsing one of the young man's hands with his own, he guided it up to his own heart and held it there fast. "My heart's pounding, too," he whispered. He began to shift and bring himself over top of Faramir, slowly covering him. He bent his neck down and kissed Faramir's breastbone which was just barely visible through the partially untied laces of his tunic. At the same time, Girion slowly brought his hand down and cupped Faramir's hardness. "Gods, you're so beautiful to me, Faramir."

Faramir shook his head, though deep down he started to believe that it may actually be true. Girion's words floated through his mind like a sweet elixir, warming him. Faramir wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed against each other. "I…I want you, Girion," he whispered.

"Want you, too," Girion murmured in reply. He lifted Faramir's shirt over his head and tossed the garment onto the floor. He dragged his lips down, alternately tasting each of Faramir's small nubs of flesh. Girion kept one hand near Faramir's shoulder for Faramir to squeeze in case he felt the desire to stop. When Faramir didn't stop him, Girion dared to move lower. His face was bobbing just above where his other hand was firmly massaging Faramir's erection, and he asked "Are you sure you are ready, Faramir?"

"...Yes."


End file.
